


Strawberries & Cigarettes

by BandanaBanana28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (kind of), Actor Louis, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Lots of it, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Theatre, aka Internal friction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:43:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 147,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BandanaBanana28/pseuds/BandanaBanana28
Summary: Louis smokes a lot and is definitely not okay, Harry likes glitter and is definitely okay, Zayn thinks too much, Niall talks too much and Liam saves cats.Add all these together in a destined-to-fail theatre production, and you've got yourself the perfect ingredients for disaster.But maybe a beautiful one. At least, one with a whole goddamn lot of prancing, dancing, and romancing.





	1. Him

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely people!
> 
> The songs for each chapter will be at the beginning, give them a listen if you'd like to. The title is of course from the song "Strawberries & Cigarettes" by Troye Sivan which has been stuck in my head ever since I first heard it. Great song, though! Thumbs up for that song.
> 
> Of course the usual: this is a complete work of fiction and non of the events really happened, nor do the character reflect their real-life counterparts etc. etc...
> 
> Comments would be really appreciated, they always make me feel sooo happy, so thanks in advance! <3
> 
> Alright, now that all this has been said, we shall start! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this crazy, horrendous story. Let me know :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis Tomlinson meets Harry Styles and a new roommate. Also, Niall is Irish.

                                                                                                           

                                                                                                      _Song(s):_

_"Far, far away" - Wilco_

_"Behind blue eyes" - The Who_

 

The first time Louis Tomlinson saw Harry Styles, it was snowing.

Big, heavy flocks falling from the sky in some sort of uncoordinated dance, catching the lights of the streets lamps around it.

Louis was standing outside of the pub he worked in, trying desperately to light his cigarette despite the cold gusts of wind. It was a frustrating procedure.

When the end of his cigarette finally started glowing in a satisfying glimmer, Louis glanced up through his eyelashes, and that’s when he saw him.

A tall figure stood amidst the flurry, the colors around him blurring at the edges. Actually, not standing…- _dancing_. Or at least some form of body movement, his arms raised in the air, palms up, slowly spinning in a circle. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth, catching flakes on it. Something caught Louis’ eye on the ground and he lowered his gaze to the boy’s feet…which were clad in golden boots. Actual sparkling, golden boots that caught the little light in the air around him.

Louis didn’t know why, but he couldn’t avert his eyes from the figure at the street corner. There was something utterly fascinating and compelling about the sight, impossible to look away from.

Who knows how long he would have continued staring at the boy twirling in the snow if the back door of the pub hadn’t opened, a few drunk students stumbling out, bringing with them a sweep of loud music and voices.

When Louis turned around again, the boy was gone.

Louis stared at the patch of snow and dark he had left behind. What a strange thing to do; as if he had never seen snow before.

“Hey, d’ya still need that?” one of the boys who had stumbled out of the pub asked, pointing at the untouched cigarette between Louis’ fingers.

“Nah, you can have it,” Louis said and gave it to him.

“Thanks, mate,” the boy said and grinned. “You work here, don’t you? I’ve seen you at the bar a few times.”

Louis stuffed his now empty hands into the pockets of his black jacket and nodded. “Yep.”

“Cool. So, how long is your shift tonight?” He raised his brows with another lopsided half-grin.

Louis looked the boy over from head to toe. “About an hour. But we don’t have to wait that long.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“I’ve still got ten minutes break.”

“I could do with ten minutes.”

“Great. Follow me.”

And that’s how that night ended. Just like most nights, the only thing out of the ordinary being the boy in golden boots still in the back of Louis’ mind the entire time, drifting there like one of the snowflakes he had twirled around in, catching the occasional one on his tongue.

-

The second time Louis Tomlinson saw Harry Styles was in late summer, nearly seven months after the snow incident. Louis was lying on the wall behind the café he worked in, a cigarette between his lips, gazing up at the puffy damp clouds and branches above him, the smoke from his cigarette drifting in the air over his head, obscuring his view.

The leaves had started to turn fiery at the edges, wild tones of orange, red, and yellow. He thought about leaves and their colors and why there were no blue ones. He would love to see a blue leaf, not just the same old ones he already knew. Nature’s mistake. Blue leaves would have been fucking awesome, especially when the entire tree-

“Hi.” The sudden voice startled Louis so much he jumped and nearly fell off his small brick wall, down into the small alley on his left which was where the voice had come from.

Louis had to tightly grip the rough edges of the brick to physically keep himself from falling down there.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice said.

“You didn’t.” Louis scrambled to get his composure back. Louis Tomlinson didn’t get scared, for god’s sake!

“Oh, okay… Because it looked like you were-“

“I’m fine, thank you.” Louis finally glanced down into the narrow alley behind him.

A boy. He was standing in the middle of the very small alleyway, hands behind his back, feet next to each other. It was an odd way of standing for what looked to be a twenty-something boy.

Louis examined him more closely, narrowing his eyes. There was something oddly familiar about the boy… And then it hit him. Late winter night, snow, blurred light, golden boots.

Oh.

Today he wasn’t wearing golden boots, his feet instead clad in black leather ones. All in all, he looked like he had either just raided his grandmother’s closet or hijacked a Gucci model. Or maybe he was the Gucci model. He looked expensive, which made Louis look down at his own attire: A black skinny jeans with more holes than fabric to it, a simple white shirt and a worn-out denim jacket. Thankfully, he had at least decided to ditch the neon apron from work for his smoke break.

The boy tilted his head to the side, curly brown hair tumbling into his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Louis grabbed the cigarette from between his lips and swung his feet over the wall so the tips of his worn-out vans were pointing at the boy. “Positively.”

“Oh, okay.” The boy cleared his throat. “Sorry again for scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me.” Louis wanted to ask the stranger about the night he had seen him dance in the snow. Had he really never seen snow before? Had he been intoxicated in some form?

Despite the nagging questions in the back of his mind, he didn’t ask. The boy didn’t necessarily need to know that Louis had watched him. That would maybe lead him to the wrong conclusions, like Louis being a stalker or something like that.

“I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Styles.” The boy extended his hand up to him. He had to stand on his tip-toes to reach that high and even with all his efforts, Louis still had to bend down to shake his hand. His fingers were warm and large as they closed around Louis’. He was wearing a few rings which were cool on Louis’ skin, feeling like a splash of water on a hot day.

Chocolate-colored hair curled down over the collar of the boy’s loosely buttoned shirt, full and lustrous. His lips were pink and soft-looking like an angel’s lips in Renaissance paintings. His voice was deep and soft and smooth. It sounded like molten bitter-chocolate. Louis didn’t like bitter chocolate.

“Those things will kill you,” he said, shifting his eyes to Louis’ cigarette.

“One way to get the job done, I suppose,” Louis japed and took a deep drag. The boy furrowed his brows, a small line forming between them. At least one thing about him that wasn’t absolutely perfect, hallelujah! “And I even get to die looking older than my age with yellow teeth and a gross phlegmy cough. Only good things come out of this deal for me!”

The crease deepened. “You aren’t making any sense.”

Louis leaned forward and blew the smoke from his mouth in Harry’s direction. “Why would I want to make any sense?” He leaned back again, resting his hands on the brick wall behind him. “Not to sound rude or anything, but can I ask what exactly you’re doing here?”

Harry cleared his throat again. “You’re Louis Tomlinson, aren’t you?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Why?”

“Well, you see… I’m actually here to ask you… I hope you don’t mind, but,” he stammered, his cheeks starting to tinge pink.

Louis took another drag of his cigarette and regarded the stuttering boy through the smoke. He didn’t seem like someone who got nervous quickly. Quite the contrary, Harry Styles looked like one of those people that never lost their cool. Then again, the boy was wearing a blouse with red roses stitched into it and the tips of his boots were pointing inwards like a little school girl’s.

“I wanted to ask you to join the theatre group,” he finally managed to get out.

Louis nearly fell off the wall for the second time in just a few minutes but could luckily regain his composure before Harry looked up again and could see the panic in his eyes. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked coolly, taking an unsteady drag from his cigarette to hide his expression behind the uncurling smoke.

“Because we need you. There’s this country wide contest for small theatre groups and apparently, a lot of people from big theatres will come to watch a few shows, and a lot of us hope that this will be our chance at a breakthrough.” Louis snorted a short laugh which Harry ignored. “But the thing is: We’re shit. We’re really, really quite dreadful and that’s why we need you.”

Louis lifted his feet onto the brick wall and spun around. “No fucking way.” He jumped off the wall on the other side, landing in a pile of fallen leaves.

“Wait!” the boy called after him. “Would you please wait a second?!”

With a sigh, Louis turned around again and bent over the wall to look down at Harry who was now attempting to climb it by stepping onto a giant garbage can and trying to hoist himself up. It didn’t work. “Those shoes don’t look like they are meant for climbing garbage cans,” Louis said and flicked his used-up cigarette to the side.

“Then hold on,” Harry said and resignedly gave up on his expedition up the wall. He did look a bit like a baby Tarzan, with his brown curls and tanned skin, just without the hand-eye-coordination.

“See, I really don’t have time for an interrogation by the police after you’ve broken your neck and I’m the prime suspect in a murder, so just listen, alright?” Louis said. “I have no intention whatsoever to join that fucking theatre group under any circumstances. I do wish you all good luck, though. Break a leg! Now, have a nice day!”

With that, he turned around and marched back into the café, stuffing his shaky hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. He didn’t look back.

-

Louis watched the last customers finally leave the small café, the doorbell ringing behind them. He tossed his too-bright apron to the side and locked the case of the too-bright ice creams. Everything in here was too bright. The walls, the floor, the tables, the chairs, the milk shakes.

Louis couldn’t decide which one of his jobs he liked less. The one in here, in a shitty, too bright and too loud café with too many crying children and tired parents, or the one at the shitty pub down the street where he worked most nights which was too loud and too dark with too many drunk people starting fights or making out in the corners. Well, at least he still got a decent fuck in a bathroom stall out of most night at the pub. So, yeah.

He supposed that’s what happened when you drop out of college (twice), after screwing up- Whatever.

Luckily, the door opened once again, yellow light spilling through from outside. A boy stepped into the dim room, the light from the dying sun giving his light hair an orange glow.

“Hey, Niall” Louis greeted the boy who jumped on the counter, his feet dangling from the edge. Louis tried to push him off again. “Get off, I just fucking cleaned that.”

“As if this place cares about any sort of hygiene rules. I swear I found a piece of fingernail in my cake the other day. Besides, I have the cleanest butt known to men,” Niall replied in his deep Irish baritone.

“I doubt your butt which has been sat on dirty old community college chairs the entire day is in any way clean. Who knows what happens on those chairs. Part of the reason I ditched the whole thing, to be honest.”

“Sure it is,” Niall said and eased the straps of the guitar hanging on his bag from his shoulders. He played a few tones, his feet merrily dangling along. Niall Horan and his fucking guitar. A symbiotic relationship if Louis had ever seen one. You never saw Niall without his guitar, nor could you hope to come across his guitar (which he had lovingly given the name Henley after the musical mastermind from the Eagles, Don Henley) without its owner.

Louis snatched the keys from the counter. “Alright, we can leave now. I’m done for the day.”

Niall jumped off the counter, following Louis out of the café and onto the empty, dark street. Louis locked the door behind them and they both walked next to each other on the grey pavement.

“So, how was your day, dearest friend?” Niall asked. There was always a slight lightness in his steps, like he was about to start skipping while merrily chanting Irish folk songs. Louis had even seen just that a few times during drunk nights (and also during some not-drunk nights) Who knew with those Irish?

“Let’s just say I’m very glad we don’t have shifts at the pub tonight. My day was stressful enough. One girl found out about her boyfriend cheating on her today and threw her milkshake in his face. It was sort of epic, but also a real pain in my magnificent arse to clean up the mess later.” Louis pondered for a moment whether he should tell Niall about the other notable encounter of the day. The one in which a strange boy dressed in strange clothes asked him to join his strange theatre group, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to talk about what Niall would inevitably ask him about if he told him. The points it brought up were ones he didn’t particularly like to think about often (or ever).

They reached the door to their apartment building, the pub in which they both worked most nights being the ground story. They passed the door, the familiar chatter and booming music drifting through the door. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell our new lodger about this nightly noise right away. They don’t need to know, do they? I mean, it’s not even that bad,” Niall said while opening the door to the building.

Just as he said it, a particularly loud, probably but also debatably human bawling was to be heard from the bar. Louis and Niall looked at each other for a few seconds, then shrugged and shook their heads.

“Nah, you’re right,” Louis waved the matter aside. “They’ll get used to it. We did. At least, for the main part.”

They trudged up the stairs in silence and Niall opened the door to their apartment, revealing a corridor littered with clothes, underwear and, upon further inspection, even a few pieces of cutlery. They both stared at what some people might call a ‘fucking mess’ on the floor in silence.

“Maybe we should clean that up before our potential new flatmate comes tomorrow,” Louis said.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Though maybe that will scare them off and we won’t have to get another flatmate after all,” Louis sighed, toed off his shoes and stepped over the piles of clothes, trying to make his way to the bathroom. He really had to pee.

“We’ve been over this,” Niall sighed and went to the living room. Louis could hear the loud squeaking sound of their derelict sofa’s springs protesting as Niall dropped himself on it. “Mark my words, one day this fucking thing will simply collapse,” Niall called from the other room while Louis unzipped his trousers.

“As long as it’s not tomorrow while we talk to our potential new BFFs,” Louis called back.

“BFF,” Niall corrected him.

Louis flushed the toilet and joined Niall on the couch. They hadn’t turned any lights on, and the room was dim and dark grey, the only source of luminance coming from the golden glowing street lamps outside. The music from the pub was quietly droning somewhere under them.

“What?”

“BFF. Singular.”

“Wait, there’s only one contestant?”

“First of all, Louis: As I’ve told you many times before, they are not contestants. This is not a reality show. 'Nialler’s and Tommo’s next top roommate'. And second: There were actually three, but one of them turned out to be eighty-four and in need of a caretaker and the other one insisted he bring all of his three cats. I generally don’t trust people with more than two cats.”

Louis leaned his head back against the couch with a groan. “Well, those are nice outlooks. Can’t we just please ditch this whole thing again? I don’t want another roommate. I can barely handle you and your shit.”

“Touché,” Niall sighed and leaned his head back as well, knocking it on the wooden frame in the process. “Ouch.” A beat of silence. “I don’t know if I should feel grateful or offended that no one wants to live with us beautiful chaps. I mean, we’re pretty awesome, right?”

“Yeah, at least I am. But I can’t take them amiss for not wanting to live in a shitty apartment above a shitty pub in the shittiest shithole of a small town known to human kind. I mean, who would ever want to live here?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Why are you here, Louis?” A light breeze ruffled Niall’s shock of white-blonde hair. Louis closed his eyes. “You know, you have to talk about it at some point,” Niall continued. “You can’t lock everyone out forever, Tommo.”

Louis abruptly sat up and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, the light spilling out from it painting a golden square on the cool tiles under his naked feet. He didn’t move for a few minutes, unable to do anything but stare at the kitchen tiles with the cold fridge air cooling his heated skin. A quiet lumbering behind his back told him that Niall had followed him and that he was now leaning against the doorframe of the small kitchen. His arms were probably crossed or he was biting his nails.

“Tommo.” His voice was soft. It was sort of unbearable. “You will have to face it at some point, you know?”

Louis finally closed the fridge door again. It was empty, anyway, besides a few pickles, a chocolate bunny left over from Easter, and a few beers, that was. A very nutritious meal. “I need a smoke,” he murmured and pushed his way past Niall to the hall and into his room. Niall didn’t follow him. He knew Louis too well for that. Their new roommate wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know anything about Louis or his past or his deeply fucked up, pathetic being. Then again, maybe that was a good thing.

He still wished they didn’t have to house someone knew in their small cave of an apartment, disturbing their familiar peace (or something close to that, at least). But there were stupid adult things like rent and shitty, underpaid jobs and the fact that they had a spare room. So. The decision had made itself, really.

Louis closed the door behind him and immediately headed for the window which led to a tiny iron fire escape with a great view over this shitty small town that resembled something like home to him these days. He climbed through the window and started searching his pockets for a lighter, cigarette already between the cushions of his lips.

When he finally managed to produce a lighter from some obscure pocket he hadn’t even known about, his fingers were already shaky from the need of nicotine in his system right this fucking second. Pathetic, he really was. He honestly couldn’t really give less of a shit. Couldn’t have for a very long time now.

As he watched the glowing tip of his cigarette slowly travel further and further down the paper with each long drag, his restless mind wandered back to the boy in the alleyway with the voice like molten bitter-chocolate. He really despised bitter chocolate.

-

Louis woke up to the smell of… something. The smell was very hard to define, something between baked beans and what he imagined bird droppings to smell like (More specifically, it smelled like he imagined the droppings of a bird who just had a very diabetes risk enhancing meal to smell like).

He lumbered into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked as he entered the kitchen.

“My second attempt,” Niall replied, looking down at the brown clump before him with a resigned look on his face. His blonde hair was standing up in all directions imaginable.

“Second attempt at what?”

“Brownies.”

Louis leaned forward and examined Niall’s creation in more detail. “If I squint really hard I can actually see it.”

“I mean, that’s good enough, right?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’m sure it tastes better than it looks.”

“Yeah.” Louis slowly spun around in a circle, looking around the room. “Something’s different.”

“I cleaned up,” Niall said simply, picking up the brownie tray and carrying it to the living room. Louis followed him.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I cleaned up.”

Louis went back to the fridge and opened it. “Are my eyes deceiving me or do we actually have food in the fridge?” he called back to the living room.

“I also went to the grocery store.”

Louis snagged a bowl and a pack of cereal. “I must say, I’m impressed, Niall. Can I always expect this level of enthusiasm for domestic work from now on?”

“No. Just maybe the first few weeks of the new guy living here, so he doesn’t judge us too quickly. After two weeks we’ll have corrupted him and he will love us so much he won’t even care anymore. That’s the plan. Hey! Stop that!” Niall snatched the toast Louis was about to devour from his hands. “First of all, that’s mine! Make you own. Second of all, you’re making a complete mess of things again! I just cleaned this shit up!” With a sigh, he handed Louis a cloth. “Clean it up again, will ya?”

Louis looked at the rag like it was some sort of undiscovered alien species. “I can do what I want,” he said, took the piece of toast from Niall’s other hand and took a big bite to drive the lesson home. “Respect your elders.”

With another sigh, Niall took back his breakfast and wiped the milk Louis had spilled off the counter. “Then at least get dressed. No offence, mate, but you look sorta homeless. And what is that on your shirt?” he said, pointing at some spots of God-knows-what on Louis’ shirt. Grease? Ketchup? Chocolate milk? Toothpaste?

Oh.

Oops.

Louis quickly padded his friend’s finger away from his chest. “Fine. I’ll try to look my best for our new BFF.” He was about to go to his room and get changed into something more… PG when the doorbell suddenly rang. Actually, it was more of rattling. They really needed to get that thing fixed soon. But that was beside the point.

Louis and Niall looked at each other in shock. “Is that him already?” Louis asked, frozen.

“Who else would it be?” Niall’s eyes were wide open. “But it’s only-“ He glanced at his watch. “Eleven o’clock!”

“Well, what time did you tell him to come?”

“Eleven, but I didn’t think he’d actually be here at eleven! What sort of person is that much on time?! I expected him to arrive half an hour too late. I thought that was some sort of unwritten rule.”

“Fuck!”

“What a weirdo.”

“Fuck!”

“I mean, what sort of person does that?”

“FUCK!”

“What?!”

“I look like I just rolled around in grease or haven’t showered for a week!”

Niall shortly looked him up and down, eyes narrowed. “I guess we just have to work with what we have. Make up for your, quite frankly, gross demeanor with a smile. That makes people forget about the rest most of the time.”

“In which self-help book did you read that?”

“I came up with it myself, thank you very much,” Niall said a little stiffly. “Besides, I’m not the one here who should be reading self-help books, Tommo.”

Louis lay a hand on his chest in exaggerated incredulity. “I am deeply offended by this, my dearest friend.”

The doorbell rang again, short and polite. They both jumped a bit at the sound.

After a beat of silence, Niall ran for the door and pulled it open. A very confused looking man stood behind it, his hand mid-air, about to press the bell button again. When he saw Niall ripping open the door, all blonde disheveled hair and red cheeks, his mouth opened a bit.

Louis peered over Niall’s shoulder to examine his potential new flatmate more closely.

He immediately regretted it because

1\. It made him feel even more scruffy and gross

2\. Him seeing the man before him naturally also meant the man seeing him and his run-down state

3\. This was very unfortunate, because this boy was FIT.

He looked clean and neat, not a single strand of his light-brown hair not in place. He was wearing a red lumberjack-shirt above a white tank-top, loose light-blue jeans and timberland boots. He definitely looked like a guy who arrived everywhere on time. He also looked like a guy who had his life sorted out which made him a really bad fit for this apartment with these flatmates, Louis thought. Well, appearances can be deceiving. And those arms!

“Hi, I’m Liam,” the guy said and stretched out his hand. “I’m here because of the spare room.”

Niall grinned and took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Liam! I’m Niall and this is Louis.”

Louis gave him an awkward wave and immediately wanted to facepalm himself afterward. He should just leave every social interaction to Niall. Niall was never awkward. 

Niall was a little drop of Irish sunshine that had fallen from the sky and just needed to smile one of his wide, bright grins at you and _boom_ you were telling him your biggest secrets. Niall had that about him, so much that he was even able to shed a little light on the vast sea of darkness in Louis’ brain. Maybe that was why they made such a great team. (Not in the literal sense of course, given that they couldn’t even keep their flat clean or make decent brownies.)

But if Niall Horan was one thing (besides jolly and happy and Irish, of course) it was a true friend. He had always stuck with Louis, even when Louis decided to move to this fucking town, because… Well, because.

“Come in, mate! Come in!” Niall luckily interrupted his thoughts and stepped aside so Liam could enter their small corridor, dragging Louis with him out the way as well.

Liam hesitantly stepped over the doorstep and looked around. “It looks nice,” he said and smiled a bit.

Louis’ eyes travelled over the apartment with its rundown, prehistoric couch, the faded walls and creaky floorboards, trying to understand Liam’s thought process behind the words.

“Thanks,” Niall grinned, illuminating the corridor a bit. The thing with a smiling Niall Horan was that you didn’t need to waste any money on electricity with him around, his teeth and hair did the work. A literal piece of fucking sunshine.

“Why don’t you sit down so we can have a chat?” He motioned to the couch.

“Do be careful, though,” Louis chimed in. “That thing was probably here when the dinosaurs still roamed the planet and I don’t want to know what Niall’s granny did with it in the eighties. We’re waiting for the day it inevitably kicks the bucket. Maybe that’s the day the apocalypse will start.”

Liam laughed a bit.

“Don’t listen to Louis,” Niall said and steered Liam to the open living room. “He’s a walking hyperbole.”

Liam laughed again, but Louis didn’t miss that he chose to sit down on one of the two armchairs instead of the couch. Hah.

After a few beats of semi-awkward silence, Liam cleared his throat and asked, “So, how long have you two been living here?”

“About eight months now, I think,” Niall replied from his spot on the couch. “Before, we were living in London, but-“ Louis shot a glare, but it was already too late.

“London?” Liam inquired. “Wow, that’s awesome! Why did you decide to move here?”

Fuck, he was going to murder Niall. The silence stretched on for too long. “I just needed a change of scene,” Louis finally replied. “And good old Niall here came with me because he’s such a great friend. We already shared a flat back in London.” He affectionately padded Niall’s shoulder.

“Actually, I moved with him because they have a pretty good community college here and I had already gotten used to Louis’ dirty underwear and video games lying around everywhere.”

_Lie._

The community college here was shit, even on community college standards. And Niall certainly hadn’t moved in with him because he loved cleaning up Louis’ shit everywhere. He had moved here with him because he was afraid what Louis would do if he lived on his own, and he was too good a friend to find out.

“What do you study?” Liam asked politely.

“Music,” Niall said and picked up his guitar Henley from where he was leaning against the couch. “What’s your job?”

The polite smile on Liam’s face broadened to a grin when he said, “I train to become a fireman.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” Niall said while strumming his guitar.

Louis pursed his lips. “Are there even any fires here? I mean, the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen happen in this town is when they changed the flower pots on the main square. I actually preferred the cranesbills to the daisies, to be honest.”

Liam chuckled a bit. If he had already judged Louis because of his attire, he didn’t show it. “Well, I didn’t get to extinguish any fires yet, but yesterday I did get to climb a tree to save Mrs. Clarke’s cat. That was pretty exciting, I guess.”

Niall looked up. “Doesn’t she have like seven cats?”

“Five, actually.”

Niall turned to Louis. “Did you know that Mrs. Clarke’s nephew lives with her now?”

“I thought he’s been living with her since he’s like, three years old.”

“No, that’s the other one. He’s ten now. I’m talking about another one, I think his mother is good friends with her.”

“Yeah, I saw him when I saved the cat. He’s the one with the long brown hair, isn’t he?” Liam chimed in.

Louis’s head snapped around at that. He tried to play it off with a small cough. “Really?” he asked, in what he hoped to be a casual way.

And of course, leave it to Niall Horan to give you all the information you will ever need. That boy was like a living NSA file. He knew everything about everyone, probably because he was friends with all of them. Friends with the entire fucking world.

Niall leaned slightly forward like he always did while giving the juiciest of information. Liam and Louis mirrored his gesture.

“His name is Harry Styles. I don’t know why he moved here, but what I do know, given that I can trust Ms. Woodworth from the grocery store’s information, is that he comes from a rich family. The richest you can be. His father is Desmond Styles, some business man who accumulated a ton of money and a perfect image, with an immaculate family to top it all off. Wife, daughter and son. But then, the picture-perfect image was disturbed when his wife suddenly filed for divorce. There was this huge process, and in the end, they had to share custody of the children, even though some people think the judge was offered a pretty sum if he made his final verdict in favor of Desmond. Long story short, Desmond got married again while his wife got left with no money, no home, nothing. It was all a huge affair in the papers at the time. And now, almost ten years later, Harry Styles, the son of one of the richest men in the country suddenly shows up in this town of all places and no one knows what the fuck he is doing here. At least, that’s how Ms. Woodworth told me the story.” He leaned back again and the bubble of cheap gossip and whispered secrets around them softly burst. Louis could have sworn he even heard a quiet _Plop_ when Niall stopped talking.

Before Louis could think any better of it, he said, “He’s here because of the Theatre group.”

Liam and Niall stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“He asked me to join them.”

Niall’s mouth dropped open about one quarter of the way. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Louis slid down the couch cushions a bit. “Because I knew what you were going to say.”

“That you should say yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so confused right now,” Liam said.

“You need to face all that shit at some point,” Niall said without listening to Liam. “You can’t hide from everything forever. Besides, they could really use your help. I watched their Christmas play. It was fucking horrible. And it wasn’t even horrible to watch in that car crash way where you can’t look away from the disaster unfolding itself in front of you, just in a really really fucking boring and bad kind of way.”

“I’m really lost,” Liam remarked again. “Why would Harry Styles want Louis to join their bad Theatre group? And if his dad is so rich, then why did he have to join an unpaid theatre group, anyway?”

Niall and Louis both turned around to him. “I can’t give you an answer to the second question, the first one however-“ Louis cut Niall off with a hard glare. Niall sighed. “He’ll find out at some point anyway, Tommo. He’s our new best buddy now. And if you don’t tell him, he can still just google it.”

“Am I really? Your new best buddy?” asked Liam, his face lighting up. “Thanks!”

“No problem, mate!” Niall grinned and then motioned for Louis to tell Liam.

Louis rolled his eyes. “I used to be an actor okay?” he sighed.

“Really? That’s awesome. Why did you stop?”

“I fucked up,” Louis replied and took a piece of the brownies that were standing on a small plastic plate in front of them, just to give his hands something to do. “I fucked up hard and I don’t really want to think about that time.”

“He was really good as well,” Niall said, still lightly strumming the strings of his guitar. “Youngest actor to ever play- Are you okay, mate?” He looked a down at Louis who was spitting the brownie back into his hands, coughing.

“That’s disgusting. What the fuck did you put in those brownies?”

Liam tried to casually put his piece of brownie back onto the plate.

Niall ignored Louis’ criticism of his culinary skills and turned back to Liam. “Anyway- Where are you from?”

Liam averted his eyes back to Niall, away from Louis who was still nearly choking on the dry piece of “brownie.”

“A small town called Wolverhampton. And you? Let me guess… You’re Irish?” He laughed at his own joke.

Louis coughed up another few crumbs.

“Yup,” Niall said and pointed at the small Ireland sticker on his guitar. He also had a large Ireland flag hung up above his bed which Louis had tried to rip down numerous times (especially during Football season), but all in vain. Niall was very passionate about his Ireland flag.

“He’s our little annoying Leprechaun, just without the gold part,” Louis said after he had found his voice back.

Niall stood up and performed a few Irish step dance steps in response. Liam happily clapped along. He reminded Louis of a little puppy. (A puppy that saved cats.)

“And where are you from?” he asked Louis, Niall still merrily skipping over the floor next to them. “North, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m from a town called Doncaster. Not the prettiest of places, but definitely one of the best.”

“Do you often go back there? Visit your family.”

Niall abruptly stopped dancing. Louis swallowed. “No, not that often.”

“Oh,” Liam said, too polite to ask about it.

“Me sisters still live there, but I haven’t seen them in some time.”

“And your parents?”

“My dad lives with my sisters. I have six of them.” Louis quickly cleared his throat before his voice could crack. “And me mum, she’s dead.”

“Oh.” Liam’s face faltered and he looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. She was great, me mum.”

“Can… Can I ask… how….?” Liam stuttered.

“Leukemia.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Not your fault, mate.”

This time the silence wasn’t semi-awkward, but full on awkward. Until Niall, the savior, cleared his throat and started dancing again. “Jay was great. One of the best women I’ve ever known. But now let’s turn back to happier affairs.” He skipped in a small circle and then abruptly stopped in front of Liam. “When are you moving in, new BFF?”

-

Three days later, Louis was lying on the couch, watching garbage telly with Niall and Liam. Actually, only Niall was watching, holding a live commentary about house design, (“Those curtains look siiick, mate! We should get some of those as well. Oh, I just saw the price and, come to think of it, our curtains are pretty nice as well.”) while Liam was half-asleep, arms crossed over his chest, and Louis was- Well, Louis was cyberstalking Harry Styles.

Well, not stalking persé, but more researching. All he did was type his name into Google, that was it, really. He didn’t find much, only a few articles about Desmond Styles’s business, and the scandalous split from his wife. Most of the articles also showed a picture of the perfect rich little family, two grinning blond children in elegant clothes standing in front of their smiling parents, childly tooth gaps on full show. Louis looked at the grinning face of the small blond child and tried comparing it to the boy he had seen standing in that alleyway, all strange clothes and dark curls and big eyes and long limbs.

After a while, he started feeling strange about staring a picture of a little boy on the internet and closed his laptop with a definite thud.

He tried watching telly with Niall for a while but after the third speech about plank bottoms he gave up and even found himself eating another brownie. (The things boredom can do to you…)

He went for a smoke, hoping to dampen the thoughts rising up in his chest. Stupid thoughts.

Eventually, he grew tired of sitting on the fire escape stairs and went down to the pub for his shift. There, he did what he always did when the thoughts became too much. He drank too much, then danced too much, and eventually blew some guy in the toilet stalls.

It also ended like all his nights. Sitting alone in the bathroom stall after the target of the night had drunkenly stumbled out again, smoking another cigarette, feeling pathetic and gross.

But the thing was, he didn’t cry. He never cried, couldn’t actually remember the last time he had felt enough to produce tears. For tears, there had to be emotions first. But the only emotions he could feel nowadays was numbness. If that even accounted as an emotion. He guessed he also felt affection for Niall (and recently also Liam) but that wasn’t enough to make up for the dry, strange thoughts spinning in circles in his brain.

He stared at the dirty toilet stall wall in front of him without actually seeing it. The only thing he seemed to be able to see was the scene that had replayed itself relentlessly in his head again and again ever since it happened. The moment he had fucked everything up, humiliated himself in front of hundreds (well, actually by now probably millions, because, you know, the internet existed) of people, taking his auspicious future between his hands and ripping it to shreds in only a few minutes. All gone, that fast. That simple. That complicated.

And now Harry Styles was here, messing up his perfectly numb life and stirring up all of the things Louis had promised himself to never think about again.

He angrily stubbed out his cigarette on the tiled bathroom floor and tried to shut out all the unwanted images behind his eyelids. He stared down at the cigarette butt next to him. His mother had hated smoking, even though she had had the occasional smoke herself. Another thing she would be disappointed about if she saw him now, he supposed.

And then Louis sat there in the middle of a dirty toilet stall in the middle of his miserable life in the middle of a black and grey world, not thinking, not feeling.

 


	2. Conquer like Napoleon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries. Louis thinks of various ice-cream induced deaths.

                                                                                              _Song(s):_

_"Melancholy Man" - The Moody Blues_

                                                                  _"Cigarettes and Chocolate milk" - Rufus Wainwright_

 Here's what Harry knew:

1\. His name was Louis Tomlinson

2\. He had been one of the most promising young English theatre actors audiences had ever seen

3\. One night, during the production of Shakespeare's "A midsummer night's dream" (directed by one of London’s best and most acclaimed directors) in which he played Puck, he had stumbled on the stage completely drunk, mumbled something inaudible, crying, and then fell off the stage

4\. After that, he had moved away and never played another part again

5\. Harry needed his help

6\. This turned out harder than he had initially anticipated.

After a week of ~~stalking~~ observing him, Harry had finally mustered up the courage to go talk to him. And it had gone horribly. Absolutely terrible.

When he thought about his embarrassing attempt to climb the wall from the alleyway he could already feel his cheeks heating up and knocked his head against the flower tapestry behind him with a groan. He felt the pressing need to bury himself under the covers of his (also flower patterned) bed covers and then maybe sink into his mattress and just lie there until the world ceased to exist.

He was about to do just that when suddenly he turned his head to be greeted with the sight of a very hairy, very pissed looking face. It was the face of one of his aunts countless cats that were strutting around everywhere in her apartment (Harry had tried to remember all their names, he really had, but after a while had accepted it as an impossible task and given up). The cat looked at him like cats did, always pissed and demanding and bored and like they were judging you and your life.

Harry sighed. “Stop judging me. I tried.” The cat kept looking at him. Another sigh. “Fine. I’ll get up, Jesus.”

He had the biggest bedroom of his aunt’s apartment, but it didn’t have any windows and the door was a curtain separating his vulnerable person from the horde of cats and old ladies that occasionally stopped by to peek their head into his room. Everything in the flat was clean and old and the carpet was stained with god knows what. Possibly cat pee since Harry has never seen any of them actually go outside to finish their business.

Harry made his way to the living room, which was basically the entire apartment, where his twelve-year-old cousin Jack was in his permanent position on the couch, video game console in his hands. At first, Harry had tried talking to him in an effort to avert his eyes from the screen but that was the first unsuccessful attempt at trying to make conversation in this town, the second one being Louis Tomlinson. God, Louis Tomlinson.

His aunt was drinking tea with a few of her old lady friends, all of which had already accepted Harry as a member of their secret organization/club/clique/tea, flower patterns, stitching, cats worshipping cult.

They greeted him with ecstatic ejaculations and warm, perfumey embraces and compliments and offerings of tea and biscuits. Harry politely declined and said he had to go somewhere, trying not to trip over one of the cats on his way out. It had happened before. More than once.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Harris from down the street asked while sipping her tea.

Harry gave her a bright, polite smile. “I’m visiting a friend of mine.”

The ladies nodded with delight. “Have fun, darling!” his aunt called before he closed the door behind him.

He shortly leaned against the wood of the door, closing his eyes. What was he even doing here? What the hell had he been thinking? He felt the distant rumblings of a major freak-out coming his way, so he quickly walked down the stairs and hopped on his bike.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at his destination: a big manor covered in ivy, a large, neatly mown lawn in front of it. He tried ringing the bell but no one opened the door, so he walked around the house to the back garden where he finally found him.

Zayn was lying in one of his small tomato fields, looking sort of dead. His Egyptian bald cat Mr. Whiskers was lying on his stomach, looking just as dead and just as high as its owner.

Harry had always thought himself to be a very nice human being. He liked most people and most people liked him. Same with animals. Harry liked them and they generally accepted him. That was until the day Zayn had introduced him to Mr. Whiskers, a literal spawn of hell.

This wasn’t just because he looked sort of disgusting with his wrinkled pink skin and little scruffs of white hair, but also because of the malice behind his large eyes. It was easy to imagine Mr. Whiskers as Satan’s helper and assistant, puffing on a big cigar, a monocle over one of his scary eyes which were looking at you and the darkest secrets within your soul, deciding which job you would be assigned to in the five realms of hell.

And no, Harry wasn’t being dramatic and he also wasn’t being mean. The detestation was based on reciprocity. It was strange, really, that a boy like Zayn Malik took such great liking to a cat like Mr. Whiskers (a hilariously unfitting name in Harry’s opinion).

Zayn Malik was one of Harry’s oldest and probably also one of his best friends. He never really talked much and when he did, it was usually something strange or deep or nerdy or just generally messed-up. Zayn was also the only boy Harry knew who owned an entire room just for spray-painting all the walls with pictures of Batman and Dragons and other weird stuff. Zayn’s family had been good friends with Harry’s family. They had met at some fancy, posh dinner party at Harry’s, and ever since then, they had been friends, or at least something similar to that. Harry couldn’t remember exactly how it had come about that they started talking, but he supposed he had been the one to start the conversation since Zayn hadn’t started a conversation or taken active part in a discussion his entire life.

This house belonged to Zayn’s family who were visiting the rest of their relatives in Pakistan, leaving Zayn behind in his weed cloud of a room filled with comic books, his tomato and cucumber fields, and his creepy, weird cat. Harry wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone for.

He approached the patch of earth Zayn was lying on, eyes closed. The orange autumn sun was lighting up his raven black hair to a soft auburn color and making his eyelashes throw long shadows over his high cheekbones.

Harry looked down at him, tilting his head to the side. “Hey, Z. What are you doing?”

Zayn opened one eye. “Thinking about the vulnerability of the universe and all the specimens living in it. Do you think in another universe the humans are all cucumbers and the cucumbers look like humans?”

Harry tilted his head to the other side. He had known Zayn too long to question any of the things he said. “Possibly. But would the cucumbers have faces or would they just walk around silently? How would they even walk? I mean, do they have legs?”

Zayn lazily stroked Mr. Whisker’s head. “Yeah, I guess…”

“Okay.” There was a beat of silence in which Harry sat down next to Zayn on the patch of earth. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one does.”

“Yeah, but I really don’t know what I’m doing with this whole theatre thing. I mean, what if my dad was right?”

“He wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but we’re really bad. And Louis Tomlinson said no. He could have turned this whole thing around, but he said no, and trust me, he was pretty determined.”

“Anyone can change their mind.”

“I don’t think he will.”

“Well, not on his own of course. Ask him again.”

“Trust me, he wouldn’t want that. He hates me.”

“No one hates you, H.”

“Your cat does.”

Zayn tickled Mr. Whisker’s chin. “No, he loves you. He loves the whole world.”

“Well, then he has a strange way of showing that love. He bit me last week.” Harry held his finger under Zayn’s nose to show him the faint bite marks on his skin.

“People show affection in their own ways.”

Harry didn’t discuss the term ‘people’ and instead just sighed, dropping his hand into his lap. “Fine. So you think Louis Tomlinson just didn’t show his love for me, but secretly adores me?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Ah, okay.” Harry let himself fall backward onto the ground, his arms spread over his head.

“I think you have to keep trying to convince him. You’d be surprised how much determination and annoyance can do. You will conquer. You are Napoleon. Pre-Waterloo of course. And better looking. Always remember that.” He lifted a limp finger in the air at those words.

Harry nodded determinedly. “Napoleon, okay. I guess that could work.” He stared at the bright blue sky for a while, watching the huge damp clouds drift by. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if clouds had different colors? Like, what if that one was green and that one next to it was blue and that over there pink and that one yellow? That would look really cool, right?”

Zayn’s eyes followed Harry’s finger as he pointed at the different cotton-wool balls above them. “Yeah, that would look siiick.”

They lay in silence for a while, just imagining the clouds being in different colors and parallel universes populated by walking cucumbers when Harry spoke again. “Hey, you should really join, too.”

“No, I don’t think it’s my destiny to become a theatre actor.”

“Why? Because you’re a hermit crab that doesn’t like other people?”

“No. I'm more of an alga and I do like most people. I just don’t particularly enjoy talking to them. Or them watching me.”

“Right. Well, you should still think about it. I think it would be a lot of fun. And maybe give you something to do.”

Zayn was studying English at college, but still spend most his time smoking weed and spray-painting his walls and also doing a whole lot of nothing.

“’It is awfully hard work doing nothing’,” Zayn quoted.

“I didn’t know you read Oscar Wilde,” Harry said, a bit surprised.

“I don’t. You once said that to me. I like that quote. It really speaks to me.”

“Oh, okay. You should still think about it.”

“I will.” Harry knew this was not true. 

“Okay. Well, I have to go and conquer now,” Harry said, picking himself up from the ground, and patted the earth from his clothes. “See ya, Z.”

“See ya, H,” Zayn replied absently and continued staring at the sky, contemplating fate and destiny and the universe.

-

Harry stopped his bike when he spotted Louis Tomlinson sitting on his usual spot during his breaks at the café. (It was maybe a bit concerning that he knew this, but Napoleon probably also collected information about his opponents before meeting them on the battle field, so you know, it was fine. Which is probably exactly what a stalker would have said, but whatever).

It was actually quite fascinating to see him sitting there in his black jeans, scruffy-looking jacket, scruffy-looking shirt, cigarette in one hand, a small yellow bottle of chocolate milk in the other one, drinking its content with a red straw. Everything about Louis Tomlinson was fascinating. His person, his career, his demeanor, the night that had led him to give up everything.

Harry took a deep breath, shutting the ventail of his imaginary armor, getting ready to conquer. He got off his bike and slowly pushed it toward the fascinating boy. This time, he didn’t make the mistake of approaching him from the back of the wall but from the other side that wasn’t located six feet beneath him. He quietly leaned his bike against the bricks and then walked up to Louis Tomlinson. Alright, deep breath. Conquer, right.

“Hi, it’s me again,” he said cheerily.

This time, Louis didn’t jump or turn around in shock. Instead, he just glanced up through a few strands of his feathery brown hair, the red straw between his lips. It wasn’t a very reassuring look. “Great.” His icy blue eyes seemed to be producing sparks.

Harry swallowed. “Well, I’m here to ask you if you reconsidered my suggestion.”

Louis took a long suck from his straw, creating a loud slurping sound from what seemed to be an as-good-as-empty bottle. It was quite a strange sight, actually. This boy alternately taking a sip from his chocolate milk (which had a bunny on it) and then a long drag from his cigarette. “No.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Then Louis raised his eyebrows. “Well, you can leave now.”

Harry straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. “No.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Um, yes. You’re blocking my view.”

Harry looked behind himself. “Of what?”

“Of _not you_.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I know. I have a very droll personality.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re a literal sunshine, it seems like.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I have been known to blind others with my relentlessly sunny disposition.”

Harry chuckled. And maybe he imagined it or it was a trick of the light, but he thought he caught a small glimpse of something that could maybe count as a smile on Louis's face as well. (a small one, but still).

Louis appraised Harry coolly through his cigarette haze. “Well, you can really leave again.”

“So, you won’t be joining us?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. You guys are terrible.” He paused shortly. “Even though I don’t have a reputation to lose,” he added with a dry laugh.

“That’s exactly why we need you. Because we are so terrible, and you- you’re really good. Besides, you just said it yourself: You don’t really have a reputation to lose anyway, so might as well, right? The only way it can go is up.”

Louis glanced up at him. “That’s not true. Things can actually always become worse.”

“Wow, sunny disposition indeed,” Harry gave back with a short laugh. “But-“ He scratched the tip of one of his boots over the ground, head bent down. “Well, you’re really good. I think everything with you in it is automatically elevated.” He didn’t look at the boy lying before him and started fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. “I’ve seen some of your plays, and- and you were great. You were absolutely fantastic.”

There was a beat of silence, then Louis said dryly, “Wow, do you want an autograph or do you prefer a selfie?”

Harry looked up. “A yes would be great.”

Louis jumped off the small wall and flicked his cigarette to the side. “Fans nowadays are way too demanding.”

He started walking to the backdoor of the café, hands stuffed into his pockets. Déjà vu.

Harry followed him with long strides. “Wait! Can you please stop running away all the time?”

“I’m not running. I’m calmly sauntering.”

Harry stopped walking and lifted his hands in the air a bit. “Well, you can saunter away from me as much as you want to, but I won’t give up, I promise. I will come back every day to annoy you until you agree to help us.” 

Louis twirled around and glared at him. “Fine,” he snapped. “Do whatever you want. I don’t fucking care about you or your life or that fucking theatre group.”

Harry shrugged. “I can work with that. People have told me I can be quite convincing.”

Louis regarded him with those mysterious, blue eyes and Harry regarded back. Louis Tomlinson was undisputedly very attractive. There wasn’t any denying that. His face, his high cheekbones and softly arched eyebrows, were perfect as a statue’s, like he was some Greek god’s paean to mortal beauty. But at the same time, the was a coldness to his face, the repellent bars of a locked cage. Against all reasoning, Harry wanted nothing more than to open that cage and see what was behind. Behind the statue’s cold marble skin.

“I’ll see you, Louis Tomlinson,” he called over to him, cheery. A short twitch in the corners of his lips, then Louis Tomlinson turned around, shaking his head, and disappeared behind the door.

Well. He hadn’t fully conquered yet, but battles weren’t won in a day.

-

On Tuesday, Harry Styles was waiting for Louis when his shift in the café was over, leaning against the pole of a street lamp in his long-limped, easy way. Louis just rolled his eyes and hurried down the street, ignoring the boy who flashed him a wide grin.

On Wednesday, Harry Styles was leaning next to the café door, smiling brightly when Louis left the room to go home. A small “Hi,” was all he said. Louis didn’t reply.

On Thursday, Louis looked up from the sticky table he was cleaning, seeing Styles enter the small, bright café, his hair swept into a small bun. It somehow made his limbs seem even more elongated and gracious. Louis thrust the napkin holder back onto the silver table with a bit more force than necessary.

He went back to his spot behind the counter where Niall was sitting on one of the high chairs, slurping his milkshake.

Harry looked around the tiny café and then sat down next to Niall at the counter. Louis rolled his eyes which had become a somewhat permanent state in Harry Styles’s presence.

He threw the dirty rag into the sink behind him and turned around. “Did you know Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the result to change?”

Harry peered over the menu card he was holding in his large hands. “Well, I’m not doing the same thing, am I? This time, I’m here to eat something. That’s different.”

Niall, who had been quietly observing their interaction, now turned his body fully to Harry, brightly grinning in that Niall Horan kind of way. “Hey, mate!” He held out his hand. “You must be Harry Styles. I’ve heard so much about you. Great to finally meet you.” He shook Harry’s hand. “I’m Niall. Don’t listen to anything Louis tells you, by the way. He can be really daunting, despite his very undaunting appearance.”

As if to prove him otherwise, Louis shot Niall the hardest glare his could muster.

Harry smiled at Niall. “It’s nice to meet you, Niall.”

Niall glanced down at the menu in Harry’s other hand. “Maybe you should reconsider ordering something off that menu. Most of it tastes like shit.”

Harry’s mouth opened to a surprised O. “I haven’t found any alien-looking objects in my milkshakes or ice creams yet, though. So I guess you’re on the safe side with those.”

“Well, then I’ll take an ice cream,” Harry said to Louis, a sweet smile on his lips. One of those smiles that could get you diabetes just from looking at it.

“What flavor?” Louis asked in the most annoyed voice in his repertoire.

Harry leaned over the counter to look at the assortment of different colored pastel ice-creams. “What’s that pink one?”

Louis sighed. He hated this. And the thing was, he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Why Harry Style’s presence was enough to anguish him and make him want to ball his hands into fists. Why everything Harry did was annoying to him. Probably because Harry Styles was everything Louis wasn’t and everything he didn’t like and his presence reminded him of a life he had been trying desperately to leave behind. What was this boy thinking, just turning up in Louis’ life and messing everything up and holding up his hands that were filled with the dirty scraps of Louis’ old life, showing it to him even though he didn’t want to see them.

Harry and Niall were looking at him expectantly. “Strawberry,” he hissed.

Harry seemed to shrink back on his chair a bit. “Okay, I’ll take one scoop.”

Niall shot Louis a questioning, angered look. It seemed to be saying _What the hell was that? Can’t you be a bit nicer?_

Louis didn’t have an answer to either of those questions.

“I like your shoes, by the way,” Niall said, looking at Harry’s feet.

“Oh, thanks,” Harry replied with a small smile. Louis pushed the sundae filled with strawberry ice cream over to him, inconspicuously trying to catch a glimpse of the talked about shoes. They were silver and blue boots, sparkly of course.

“I like yours, too,” Harry said to Niall.

Niall looked down at his large white sneakers. “Thanks.”

Louis, who didn’t support this blossoming friendship, looked for something to say so they wouldn’t forget about him. “You really like that glitter, don’t you?” he asked Harry.

Harry looked up from his pink ice cream. “Yes, I mean, who doesn’t? Glitter makes everything better in life. Glitter here, Glitter there, Glitter everywhere.”

“I’m not a big glitter fan,” Louis said, starting to clean a used glass. “It’s uncontainable and sticky and I generally don’t like things with those attributes.”

Niall held up a finger. “First of all: That’s what she said. Second of all: You used to wear glitter all the time. Remember that Halloween party we went to in London where we stuck glitter and sequins all over our faces?” He took a sip from his drink. When he lowered the glass again, he had a thin milk moustache above his upper lip. “That was a magical night.”

Harry looked at Louis, a happy expression on his face. His lips were colored pink, even pinker than usual, from his ice-cream. “That sounds fun,” he said.

“That was once upon a time,” Louis gave back, knocking the glass back on the table.

“Once upon a time, there was boy called Louis and he had eyes of bluey. But one day, the sparkle in his heart was banished, and he decided to vanish…ed. Now he lives in a small town, and oftentimes gets down. The end,” Niall recited. He had a proud grin on his face, the moustache still above his lip.

Harry clapped, enthusiastic. Louis put his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he mumbled into them.

Niall grinned and then hopped off his chair, Henley in his hand. “Alright, I should probably go now. Harry-“ he turned around again, a solemn expression on his face. “It was very nice to meet you.” Harry grinned and gave him a small flourish of a bow. Niall curtsied.

Louis wanted to smack his forehead against the counter, or maybe just lay down in the display of pastel ice creams and lie there until he either froze to death or drowned in a pool of melting  chemicals and artificial fruits. Tough choice.

Harry’s face suddenly lit up. “Hey, Niall, you wouldn’t just happen to be into theatre, would you?”

Niall contemplated this. “Nah, not really. I was usually pretty bored while watching the plays Louis dragged me to.” He looked at Louis with a sentimental smile. “I was, however, always delighted to watch the plays _he_ was in. I always felt like a proud mother. Well, Jay actually was the proud mother but she once told me she would share that title with me. I still hold that crown very close to my heart.”

Harry smiled at Louis. Louis didn’t smile back. Harry’s smile vanished as well, leaving only a disappointed tilt to his mouth. Louis hated himself. And he also hated Niall who told Harry Styles things that were none of his business and who was in general a big traitor as it now turned out when he shrugged on his jacket. “But sure, I’ll join ya. Sounds fun.”

Harry brightly grinned. “Amazing, thanks!”

Louis followed his instinct and knocked his forehead against the cool surface of the counter once. And then once more, just to be sure.

He glanced up, his cheek still on the metal counter. The surface was sticky, so he wasn’t even sure he would be able to pick his head up again. He was probably just stuck.

Harry set his chin on the edge of the counter and smiled at him with that morbidly sweet grin, dimples popping out like craters. Of course that fucker also had dimples. Of fucking course.

Harry’s smile reflected in the plastic metal surface under his chin, blurry and expended and twisted like another strange dimension. Maybe the dimension Louis belonged in. He certainly didn’t belong in this one. The one that had a triumphant Harry Styles and a grinning Niall Horan in it.

Louis’ face was so close to Harry’s that he could see every single one of his nonexistent pores and spots. What the fuck? Who had skin like that? Smooth and pink and soft-looking. Someone who didn’t chain-smoke probably. Whatever.

Another explanation was that Harry Styles was involved in witchcraft and sacrificed baby goats at midnight under a full moon and drank smoothies with frog skin in it. Or maybe he was a fairy and his wand was hidden in one of his glittery boots or under the silk of his blouse.

Yeah, that explanation sounded more like it.

With a groan, he slowly peeled his skin off the counter, pardon, off the portal to another twisted dimension.

“Traitor,” he grunted and threw a dirty rag at Niall who merely caught it and grinned, wriggling his eyebrows. Harry also raised his brows, lifting his chin from the counter, that annoying smirk that seemed to always be on his lips still firmly in place.

“Alright, lads,” Niall sighed, hands on his hips. “I’ll see ya.” With that, he left the café, the bell over the glass door ringing behind him.

“So.” Harry grinned up at Louis. “Will you rethink your decision?”

Louis didn’t reply and Harry smugly smirked. That goddamn smirk!

Luckily, in that moment the bell rang once again, signalizing the entering of new customers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” Louis said snippily and went over to the family.

As he walked away from the counter, he could practically _feel_ Harry’s smile burning into his back. God-fucking-damn-it.

“Louis,” he suddenly called behind him and Louis slowly turned around again with a sigh.

“What? I really have to work. Newsflash, but not everyone can rely on their rich daddy to pay for their stuff. Some of us actually have to do shit for it, you know?”

The smile was wiped clean off Harry’s face, leaving only a harried, deeply sad look on it. His jaw was clenched, his hands lying on the counter balled to loose fists. Fuck, Louis felt like he’d just kicked a puppy.

“I just wondered if I could ask you a question,” the puppy said, looking down at his fingers on the counter, his lips pressed tightly together.

Louis took a small step toward him. “Fine. What is it?”

The nail of Harry’s index finger scraped at the metal of the counter. “I know it’s none of my business, but I was just really curious.” He looked up now, big green eyes surrounded by dark lashes. The line of his pulled back hair had the shape of a parabola and there were a few loose, frizzy hairs curling over his ears. Louis gripped the material of his uncomfortably bright apron tightly.

“It’s fine. You can ask, though I can’t guarantee you an answer.”

“What happened on that day that made you come to work so wasted?”

Louis had known what the question would be, though it still made him grip the apron even more tightly. “Let’s just say my day hadn’t been going so great.”

“Okay. I hope at least this day will be a good one for you.” Harry's voice was slow and earnest.

“We’ll see.” He smiled a tiny bit. “Depends on when you will finally leave.”

Harry gave the tiniest of smiles back. “Maybe I’ll stay here for the rest of your shift just to mess up your day. Make it properly miserable. I’ll go get my pillows and blankets, so I can fully commit and even stay the night. Watch some movies, paint my nails. The usual, but this time with the great advantage of simultaneously destroying your relentlessly sunny disposition.”

“Well, game on,” Louis said and then turned around once more, finally tending to the newly arrived family.

When he came back to the counter, Harry Styles was gone, but clamped under his empty sundae was money for the ice-cream plus a way-too-generous tip.

Louis sort of felt the urge to lie down in the ice cream and freeze to death in it again. Drowning in a sea of ice cream would be a way too glorious and delicious way for him to go.


	3. The Definition of Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is drunk and makes a mistake. Or a lot. Very big ones. Harry doesn't know.

_Song(s):_

                                                                                          _"Electric Love" - Borns_

_"Use Somebody" - Kings of Leon_

 

The Laptop sat on Louis’ bed, inviting and daunting. The thing was, Louis knew he was making a mistake. Knew that he shouldn’t be reaching for it, knew that he shouldn’t open it, knew that he shouldn’t open Google, knew that he shouldn’t type the words in the search bar. He did it, anyway. And he watched the whole thing, the full blurry video of him stumbling onto the stage, hair a complete mess, a bottle of liquor in his hand. Then he watched himself starting to cry, and then tumble off the stage into the shocked audience.

His jaw was clenched, his fingernails painfully digging into the skin of his palms, leaving small crescents there. It was the first time he had seen the complete video and for good reason. He didn’t even spare himself from the comments under the video, because apparently, he was a masochist. Mostly, they consisted of a bunch of LOL’s and laughing emojis, but there were also a few more disappointed sounding ones, those that felt sorry for Louis and the end of his career. Those were somehow even worse.

Eventually, he shut the laptop, the desperate need for a cigarette pulsing in his veins. Or maybe an entire pack. No, he needed more than just that.

“You’re gonna go to the bar with me,” he announced two minutes later with crossed arms, blocking Niall and Liam’s view of the telly.

Niall threw a crisp at him. “Get out the way, Tommo. We want to watch this. It’s riveting.”

Louis turned around to look at the program. “Is that _golf_? You’re watchin’ fucking golf? I’m way more interesting than golf, and so is getting drunk.” He gripped Niall and Liam’s ankles, one ankle per hand, and tried to pull them off the couch. Niall slipped down the cushions a bit, but otherwise the attempt was unsuccessful. “I’d rather watch fucking paint drying than watch golf. Are you two high? Is that why you’re watching golf in your free time? Did you two get high without me? Fuck you.”

Niall threw another crisp, this time at Louis’ head. Louis didn’t hear any sound of it dropping to the floor, so he guessed it still stuck in his hair. He took it out and ate it. “That’s gross,” Niall commented.

“It’s not. My hair is as sweet and clean as angel skin.”

“Still gross. Do you think that’s some weird sex fantasy people have? Eating stuff off angel’s skins.”

“You’re high, aren’t you?”

“Nah, just curious.”

Louis gave up and turned to Liam. “What about you? Please don’t tell me you also find golf more interesting than alcohol and your dear friend Louis.”

“No, but this couch is way too comfortable to get up.”

Louis raised his brows with a sweet smile. “It’s karaoke night tonight,” he chirped.

Niall finally averted his eyes from the boring green landscape on the screen behind Louis. “Why didn’t you say that before?! I totally forgot about that! Liam mate, you in?”

“If there’s karaoke involved, of course I’m in.”

“Yeaaah!” Louis shouted with raised fits and leaped onto the couch, excitedly jumping up and down on it. Liam and Niall joined him, loudly chanting “Party and Bullshit” by the Notorious B.I.G on top of their lungs. With each impact of their feet, the couch made a concerning groan.

Time to forget about the bullshit. Time to stop thinking, and then hopefully never start again.

-

Two hours later, Louis’ brain had finally at least partially stopped producing thoughts and replaying the stupid video in his head on repeat.

He knocked back another shot, making things seem another tad less like they actually mattered. Ah, the sweet release of not giving a shit anymore.

He slowly spun around on his bar stool, scanning the crowd of sweating, drunk people behind him, horribly chanting along to Liam’s rendering of Cher’s classic “If I could turn back time”. His eyes travelled over the different bodies, looking for any potential candidates to bestow the grace of his saliva upon tonight.

He knew he looked fit as fuck, with his tight black shirt and jeans, an unlit cigarette behind his ear, not one crisp in his hair. Like a Venus flytrap, all beautiful and innocent, saying _I’m a_ _delicious flower, come taste me_ and then _S_ _nap!_ Devour. Making his pain go away for at least a little while.

The worst thing was not even knowing the exact reason for this constant pain, this emptiness and anger. The things he should be angry and devastated about had already been nine months ago. Wasn’t the pain supposed to have faded a little by now? Shouldn’t he have learnt to live with it all at this point? Fuck. Too many thoughts, too many feelings. Not enough alcohol. Another shot.

In that moment, a hand was suddenly put on Louis’ thigh. “Hey, Louis.”

If Louis' mouth had been full, he probably would have choked. He slowly looked up, repressing an annoyed groan. This had been supposed to be a fun night!

“Hey, Stan,” he said, exasperated. If his glass hadn’t been empty, he might have dumped it on him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks, I’m all good.”

Stan glanced at Louis’ empty glass and smiled at him, head bent down a bit. It was a smile like garlic. Louis wanted to roll his eyes.

“Are you sure, Lou?”

“Don’t call me Lou.”

Stan waved the waiter (Louis’ friend and co-worker, Calvin) over and ordered another beer, ignoring Louis' request. Calvin gave Louis a pitying smile.

“Have you already thought about my offer?” Stan asked when Calvin sat the pint down on the counter in front of them.

“I don’t want to be with you, Stan,” Louis sighed. “Sorry.”

“But I think we could be really good together, Lou. Since the night we first met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. You were really great.” Another garlic-like laugh. It felt oily.

“I was drunk,” Louis said and picked up Stan’s hand from his thigh, holding it like a used piece of underwear or a possibly infectious animal body, and placed it in Stan's own lap.

“Well, you’re drunk right now,” Stan grinned.

That was true. Louis was drunk to the point that everything seemed a bit blurry and the room had started spinning. “Stan. I don’t feel the same way,” he said in a firm voice, trying not to slur.

“It’s okay. I know you’re not one to really talk about your feelings,” Stan said and gave him another affectionate pat on the arm.

Louis buried his face in his hands. This was way less fun and numbing than he had wanted it to be. He needed to get rid of Stan somehow, just finally end this and not let it dangle in an ambiguous place where Stan could spin it the way he liked to.

“There is someone else,” he blurted and immediately wanted to smack himself in the eyeball.

Stan looked like Louis had just _actually_ smacked _him_ in the eyeball. “What? Who?”

“Uhm…,” Louis stuttered. He could feel a headache start to form behind his brows. Fuck, he was way too drunk and angry and confused for this. Louis peered over Stan’s shoulder, looking for some kind of way to escape and get him out of this situation.

In that moment, the door opened, letting a stream of air inside the room, cooling Louis’ sweaty skin, and Harry Styles entered the pub.

-

Harry didn’t know what he was doing here. Maybe it was some sort of last desperate attempt, the final shot at making Louis Tomlinson help him.

Niall had asked him in a drunk sounding text if he wanted to join them at the pub with the promise of hearing him sing karaoke. Harry had stared at the text for about twenty seconds before he had shrugged on his coat and started walking down the dark street without any idea of why he was doing it.

Now he looked around the pub and saw Niall standing on a tiny stage, his arm slung around another guy’s shoulders. They were drunkenly performing ‘Let it be’ by the Beatles. Harry didn’t know what to do now, so he awkwardly put his hands into the pockets of his coat and tried to become invisible.

That was the moment he felt someone touch his shoulder and turned around in surprise. His first thought was that it had to be Niall who had spotted him in the crowd and come over to greet him, but the person behind him wasn’t Niall. It was Louis.

“Hi, Curly,” Louis said and smiled. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen Louis smile before. That was the second strange thing happening in not even ten seconds, the first one being Louis Tomlinson coming over to greet him in the first place. The third was that Louis Tomlinson, _Louis Tomlinson (!!!),_ was now leaning in to give Harry a hug as if it were the most normal thing in the world and they had done it countless times before.

Harry was so pleasantly surprised that Louis Tomlinson now apparently liked him he didn’t question this sudden surge of affection at first and just hugged him back with a shy smile. “Hey,” Harry said when they let go of each other again.

But Louis wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Instead, his eyes were fixed somewhere over Harry’s shoulder, roaming the crowded room. Harry turned around to see what Louis was looking at, but Louis quickly grabbed his arm and made him turn his way again.

“Don’t look there,” he said, still not looking at Harry. The words sounded a bit slurred and Harry noticed how glassy Louis’ eyes were. Oh, so he was drunk. That explained a lot.

Harry felt a disappointed lump in his throat. It had been so stupid of him to think even for one second that Louis Tomlinson actually liked him.

Louis, still watching something over Harry’s shoulder, suddenly loosed a deep breath and finally turned his blurry gaze up to Harry. “Thank god. He’s gone,” he said, relieved.

Harry gave him a quizzical look. “Who is?”

Louis sighed and shook his head. “No one.” He stilled a bit, seeming to actually register now who he was speaking with. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For being at the right place at the right time.”

“Okay… No problem?”

There was silence for a few seconds, until Louis cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want to sit down? I’ll buy you a drink as thanks.”

Harry, who still didn’t know what exactly Louis was thankful _for_  but didn’t know what else to do, nodded and followed him to the bar.

Louis sat down on one of the high chairs, his legs dangling in the air under the counter. Like so many things with Louis Tomlinson, there was something fascinating about this picture of him sitting at the bar, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, feet rocking back and forth underneath the counter like a small child’s, the hazy lights of the pub painting the air behind him. Harry found himself wanting to take a picture of it. Not in a creepy way, of course, only for artistic purposes, naturally.

“Choose anything you like,” Louis said and reached up to take the cigarette from behind his ear, but the guy behind the bar shot him a look.

“No smoking inside, you know the rules, Lou.”

Louis rolled his eyes and tucked the cigarette back while flipping the boy at the bar off.

Harry hesitantly slid onto the chair. “What can I bring you?” the boy behind the bar asked.

“Um…”

The guy’s face suddenly lit up. “Hey, I made this new awesome drink, do you want to try it?”

Louis groaned next to Harry. “Your brilliant new inventions always taste like dinosaur piss, Cal.”

“Not this one,” the guy defended. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Harry glanced back and forth between the two and then said, “Sure, I’ll try it,” not wanting to be impolite.

The guy, Cal, gave him a delighted look. He fumbled behind the bar for a few minutes before he placed a glass filled with a fluorescent blue substance in front of them. “Here ya go,” he said with a proud grin. “My special creation. I call it: _Ocean dreams._ ”

“Looks like a witch brew,” Harry said.

“Looks like a witch’s brew on steroids,” Louis added.

“Looks like it might give people a seizure.”

“Looks like a fever dream.”

Calvin rolled his eyes annoyedly and then stalked away, tending to other customers. “Fuck off.”

Harry regarded the drink for another few seconds before tentatively reaching out and taking a sip. Coughing, he set down the glass again almost immediately. “Wow,” he wheezed. “How much percent is that?”

Louis looked down at the drink, unimpressed. “Knowing Calvin, I’d say probably in the illegal area.” He knocked back a shot without the slightest wince. Harry noticed that he was swaying a bit on his chair. This boy was _drunk._

Harry took another sip from his drink, his straw blooming with fluorescent blue alcohol. He could already feel his nervousness beginning to subside, being taken away by the sweep of lightness and shallow dizziness in his head. God, this drink was strong.

“Curly?” Louis suddenly said and turned his body to him.

Harry looked up from the hallucinating depths of his glass. “What?”

“Why are you here? In this town, I mean.”

“No, I mean, _what_ about the nickname.”

Louis ignored this and just kept starring at Harry with hazy blue eyes.

Harry took another sip. “It’s a long story. Basically, I’m here to prove a point.”

“To who?”

“Whom," Harry corrected, then sighed and said, "My father.”

No response.

Harry took a deep breath. Last attempt. “Look, I know I’m annoying, and I promise to never bother you again if you really don’t want to. But. We really need you. You’re a great actor and would actually know what you’re doing unlike the rest of us who have no goddamn clue, to be honest. This is really important to some of us. And if you don’t want to do it for us, then do it for yourself.”

At this, Louis glanced up from his glass, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry collected all the courage (most of it liquid) in his stomach and carried on. “I’m a big believer in second chances and I don’t think one bad day should determine the rest of your life. And I know you love acting, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so good at it. And you were, and I’m sure you still _are._ So, do it for us or do it for yourself, I don’t care. Just do it for the love for acting and art. Do it for the feeling on being on stage again, however small and unimportant that stage might be. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it would still be art. And it’s still a great chance to create something beautiful. Something unique. Something I know, deep down, you really miss.”

Somehow, Harry knew his words had struck something inside of Louis, saw it in the glassy shimmer of grief and longing in his eyes and the barely visible twitch in his fingers, the way he was gripping the glass in his hands, his stubborn gaze on the table. “Fine.”

“What?”

“Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Don’t hug me.”

Harry had jumped off his chair and was about to throw his arms around the boy’s torso. His arms dropped again, a huge grin still on his face. “You sure about the hug?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Louis replied, but Harry saw him smiling a bit and mentally congratulated himself. He sat back down on the chair and emptied the rest of his drink in celebration. When he lowered the glass again, he saw that Louis was staring at him with an undiscernible look. He was truly beautiful and the longer Harry looked, the more beautiful he seemed to become. Or Harry just kept getting drunker.

The room had started spinning and the colors seemed to be washed out somehow, Louis Tomlinson in the middle of it all. Elegant, high cheekbones, dark hair swept into a small quiff, a few loose strands delicately brushing the long, dark lashes surrounding eyes like blue glass. Eyes that were staring at Harry. They were pale and blue and they were lonely, and haunted, and hungry. There was something broken behind them.

Something seemed to have changed. Louis was absent and looked, now more than ever, like a broken porcelain puppet hanging off a few silk strings. Harry had the feeling Louis would not like being compared to a porcelain puppet.

When had they gotten so close? When had their elbows started touching?

“Wanna get out of here?” Louis asked. He smiled and he was made of trouble.

“Go where?” Harry asked lamely.

Louis chuckled a bit. “Come on,” he said and took Harry by the arm. He led him through the crowd of people who all seemed to have shifted to nothing but undiscernible silhouettes around them. Louis looked back over his shoulder and Harry’s thoughts seemed to vanish, drowned out in the blue before him. And even though Harry didn’t know what he was doing, that Louis Tomlinson had hated him just 24 hours ago, he still followed him without even questioning it. He was never drinking again. But he couldn’t resist the wickedness in Louis’ smile. Harry enjoyed wickedness.

And so he followed Louis as he pushed open the door to the toilet and pulled him into one of the cabins. Harry heard the door shut behind them, muffling the sound of droning basses to a quiet, low thrum. The room was bright, the fluorescent lights overhead washing the air in blurs. Or maybe that was just Harry’s drunken head. The bathroom stall walls were adorned with messy sharpie scribblings on the paint.

For one moment, Harry and Louis were looking at each other, the particles between them charging with… something. “You don’t often do this, do you?” Louis asked.

A part of Harry wanted to lie, but another part was well-aware that Louis already knew the answer. “No, I don’t.”

Louis reached up and took the cigarette still tucked behind his ear. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked as he pulled out a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. Harry shook his head, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t been expecting this, but _god_ , he wanted this. His eyes roved over Louis’ body as the boy lit his cigarette, the red glimmer sparking in the eerie atmosphere of the bathroom. Harry’s insides shivered a little, watching Louis raise the cigarette to his lips and take a long suck. Harry chuckled a little as the ridiculousness of the situation fully set it.

“What?” Louis asked, giving him a quizzical look.

“’S just funny, don’t you think? One day ago, you still thought I was the most annoying person in the world.”

“I still think you are,” Louis said, but he smiled a bit while blowing up the smoke to the dirty ceiling.

“There’s truly nothing more romantic than a row of urinals and a bathroom stall,” Harry remarked.

“I know. That’s what I’ve learnt from watching a lot of movies.”

“Name _one_ movie where the main characters find love in a public restroom.”

Louis seemed a bit irritated by this, but he quickly regained composure, and said, “That was a joke, Curly.” He held up his cigarette to Harry. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

“Right. I didn’t think so. You’re too good for that. Too innocent.”

“I’m not good and innocent!”

“Right now, you’re pouting like a four-year-old. I don’t even know if I should allow you to smoke.”

“Well, I don’t want to. And you saying I’m too good for smoking would also imply you’re bad somehow.”

“Well, I am.” He took a step towards Harry so that Harry’s back was pressed against the wall. They were now so close the tips of their noses were touching. Harry felt dizzy. Alcohol, Louis Tomlinson. A dangerous mixture.

Harry’s pulse sped up, his skin felt hot and flushed, his pants were too tight. He could see every single filigree line in Louis’ irises. Fuck. What was he doing? He watched Louis’ lips close around the moistness of the filter, watched as he took a long long drag and then slowly exhaled, blowing the smoke in Harry’s face. “Because it’s true. I’m undisputedly a terrible human being, Curly.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad human being,” Harry replied through the grey haze. It looked like fog and Louis looked like he was lost in it. Harry was drunk.

“I think you’re a good human being who made a few bad decisions and is still punishing himself for it.” _And all those cigarettes you’re slowly killing yourself with are one of those punishments._

Harry who had been staring at the tips of his boots while speaking, stole a glance at him, and caught him staring at his lips. Fluorescent lights, sharpie drawings, blurry colors, cigarette fog, lips. And then before Harry could think or doubt or do anything really, they were kissing.

Louis’ face, his hands. Harry’s fingertips traced down his jawline, and back into his hair, curving around the column of his neck. There were hands and mouths and tongues and it was flushed and hot and wasting. Louis’ stubble rubbed Harry’s cheek raw but he didn’t feel it. Everything seemed numbed and there was nothing but the feeling of losing gravity and falling into space, the moment of falling headlong and you can’t see or think and there’s only nescience and stars and milky ways and the scariness of it all.

Louis tasted like (surprise!) smoke, alcohol and the faint echo of chocolate milk and his skin was sweaty and hot.

Harry had found a new definition of insanity, one even Albert Einstein would surely find absolutely mad and bonkers, too. Kissing some boy you barely know in a bathroom stall in the middle of the night and it feeling like falling headlong into space. Now, _that_  was insanity.

Harry’s back pressed against the wall, his hair sticking to his sweaty neck, Louis’ hand snaking up his shirt, hot fingers against flushed skin. Harry pulled him even closer, filled with need and alcohol and stupid thoughts.

Louis started fumbling with the button of his trousers, but Harry stopped him, breaking their lips. “Wait,” he panted. “Can we… go somewhere else? Somewhere-“ He glanced up at the blotchy ceiling. “… Not here?”

Louis looked at him with vitreous blue eyes and swollen lips. He seemed… overcharged; bewildered. “Sure,” he finally replied, smoothing his ruffled hair. “We can do that.” He opened the stall door and paced to the exit of the bathroom, trying to open it- and halted. He rattled the door a few times, but it wouldn’t open. “Ahh, fuck,” he groaned and threw his head back. “This happens sometimes. This thing’s fucking broken but no one ever bothers to fix it. Don’t ask how you can break a door, but it happens.”

Harry stared at him. “So, you mean… we’re locked in?”

“Depends on your definition of locked in. If you mean we can’t exit through the door because it won’t open, then yes.”

“That is my definition of locked in.”

“But you know how the saying goes,” Louis said with a small smirk. “If God closes a bathroom door, he opens a very tiny, very high located window.”

Harry turned around to follow his eyes to the very tiny, very high located window above the row of urinals. “No way.”

“No. One way. And that one’s it.” He pointed at the heavy door. “No way.” He pointed at the window. “A way.”

“I’m not doing that,” Harry protested.

“Then have fun waiting the whole night until someone out there has to go wee.”

“They do drink a lot of liquid, so I reckon it can’t take that long.”

“Longer than taking that way.”

Harry crossed his arms. “I can wait.”

“Well, I can’t. But you have fun in here, Curly. At least, if you need to follow the call of nature you can properly go for it, no boundaries. Other prisoners have to pee in a bottle and stuff like that.” He stalked to the spot beneath the window and looked up, then turned around again. “You sure you don’t want to come with me? I won't free you once I’m out.”

Harry raised his brows, a cocky grin widening on his face. He was still flushed and wasted from the kiss and it was hard to think straight- or to think period. “Did you just realise you can’t climb up there on your own?”

“Of course I can,” Louis scoffed. “I just think you shouldn’t turn sour in your own in here. You should have a little adventure with me. Have you ever done something adventurous, Curly?”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course I have,” he said defensively.

“What? Have you bought a shirt that cost less than a hundred quid?”

“I have done many adventurous things in my lifetime, thank you very much.”

“Then do one more. Come on. For me.” He laced his fingers together, palms up. “Come on. Upsy-daisy. I’ll give you a boost.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking.”

“Although I do consider myself somewhat of a jester, I must say that I am currently not trying to fool you.”

“ _If_ I do this, surely I should be the one boosting _you_ up. I’m way taller.”

“No, you’re not. I’m five nine. And there is absolutely no fucking way I’ll let myself be picked up by you.”

“Are we still talking about the whole escaping thing?”

Louis sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll give you a boost, and that’s my last word. I think we’re on the same page here.”

Harry stomped towards him. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Louis glanced down at Harry’s feet. “I think we’ve already established that those shoes weren’t made for climbing. Better take ‘em off first.”

“No one gets left behind. Especially not my shoes. If I had to choose between saving them or you from a drowning ship, I’d choose them in a heartbeat.”

“We’ll come back for them.”

“I’m not leaving them.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Just don’t kick me in the face with them, please.”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Whether or not you’ll drop me,” Harry said as he stepped onto Louis’ finger bridge and he hoisted him up. Harry grabbed hold of the window as his feet scrambled for a hold on the slick tile-wall. “Louiiis!”

“Hold on!” Louis stepped up into a urinal and wedged his shoulders under Harry for extra leverage.

“No, enough!” Harry called, slipping.

“Okay, then. I’m apologizing for this in advance but given that your tongue was just in my mouth, I think it can be evaluated as appropriate,” Louis said and placed his hands firmly on Harry’s backside, boosting him up as Harry tried wedging his shoulders through the narrow window. Something told him Louis was grinning beneath him. “Take your time, Curly. We aren’t in a hurry. And I actually find it quite enjoyable down here. Nice pants, by the way.”

With a grunt, Harry finally scrambled through the window and landed with an audible thud on the dewy grass behind it. “I made it!” He called, feeling his limps to make sure nothing was broken. Louis didn’t respond at first, but after a few seconds, his head poked through the window, sweaty skin glowing in the dark. He wiggled his upper body forward until only his hip was still stuck, arms hanging off the building wall. He dropped his head, hair sticking up. “Fuck,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I think I’m stuck.”

“Where?”

“My bum might be too big.”

Harry snorted. “Pardon me?”

“I have a magnificent arse, Curly. And this arse is currently hindering my escape from this motherfucking loo.”

“Well, I managed to get through.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t say a lot.” He dropped his head again, his forehead nearly touching the wall. “God, I’m way too drunk for this.”

Harry reached up. “Come one. I’ll pull, you wiggle. We can do this.” Louis gripped Harry’s forearms and Harry started pulling.

Eventually, Louis tumbled out the window, sending Harry flying backwards. They both landed on the grass, breathless and drunk. Harry didn’t know how it happened or who initiated it, but the next moment, they were kissing again, and the next, Louis was sitting on top of him, and the next, he was leading him up the stairs to his apartment, and the next they were standing in the hallway of a small, dark flat, the distant thrum of music below their feet. It all happened in the span of merely five minutes, time lost in wet tongues, and drunk slurs, and sweaty, exploring hands.

And something inside of Harry, maybe the part that wasn’t completely drunk or hard, kept whispering _Mistake! Mistake! Big mistake!,_ but Harry couldn’t bring himself to listen to that part. Not with Louis pressed against him, not with his hands leaving burning traces along the skin of his upper body, not with their panting breaths harmonizing in the air. And so, he pushed those nagging doubts aside, losing them in the feel of Louis’ sweaty, hot skin under the tips of his fingers.

Slowly, they made their way into one of the rooms, stumbling a bit, never breaking their locked lips. Harry had to steady himself at the doorframe, gripping the wood so the two of them didn’t fall over, one hand slung around Louis’ waist. They dropped onto the creaking bed, Harry on top of Louis.

Gripping the cloth of Harry’s blouse, Louis propped himself up on his elbows. Harry pulled his shirt over his head, revealing sweaty collarbones and the smooth skin of his belly. Marveling at the sight, Harry took off his own shirt, and dropped it on the floor next to the bed. With fidgety fingers, he opened the button of Louis’ trousers and slid them down his legs, placing small kisses on the smooth skin of Louis’ chest. Slowly, he kissed his way down his torso, until he finally reached Louis’ cock, already leaking precome onto his stomach, the tip colored purple.

Lazily, Harry took him into his mouth, licking his way down the full impressive length of it. Louis threw back his head, a small moan escaping him. Harry let his tongue swirl over the tip, licking away the small drops forming there. Louis' hands gripped his hair, a pleasant tug on Harry’s scalp.

“Wait,” Louis groaned. “Don’t wanna come too early.” And with that, he smoothly twisted around, pulling Harry up so he was lying under him. Louis reached up and took a bottle of lubricant from the drawer of his nightstand, spreading some of it over his fingers. Slowly, he pushed them into Harry.

Harry closed his eyes, panting breaths coming from his mouth. One finger, then a second. And then, Louis slightly crooked them, watching Harry squirm with pleasure beneath him. He opened him up, carefully, lazily, all the while tracing Harry’s jawline with his lips. Hot breath against hot skin.

Harry ran a hand along Louis’ flushed chest, watching Louis shudder under his fingers, cock twitching. “Okay, ‘m ready,” Harry managed to get out between kisses and heavy breaths, and urged Louis to finally fill him, pulling him closer, hands placed on his behind. A tiny, cocky smile appeared on Louis’ lips, and he raised his brows even though Harry could tell he was as ready as he was. Prick.

But then, he finally, _finally,_ shifted his hips and pushed inside Harry with a moan that vibrated against his throat. The stretch of him inside Harry was so new, so unexpectant, that Harry cried out and Louis turned his head, swallowing the sound as if to save it up inside his chest.

He started moving his hips, small thrusts and rolls that make Harry squirm under him. He threw one of his legs over Louis shoulder, locking his ankles on his back. It was black all around them, the only source of light coming from the flickering streetlamps outside the window, and the darkness only amplified their quiet moans and the gusts of pleasure Louis let out with every thrust.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever been this wild: pushing up into him, digging his nails into his back, begging him faster, harder. It was wild and sweaty and it was pleasure and it was stupid and everything was blurry and washed out and strange and felt so, so _good._ And Harry couldn’t grasp a single thought or emotion or feeling that wasn’t Louis' skin on his, their panting breaths in the air, the slapping sounds of their skin against each other, or the place where they were joined.

From the way Louis’ thrusts grew faster, messier, and his muscles tightened, Harry could tell he was close. He now had a fist curled around Harry’s stiff cock, moving it up and down, using the pearls of precoma for an easier glide.

They both climaxed simultaneously, Harry hands tightly gripping the linen of the bed sheets, Louis hands closed around Harry’s length. Harry dug his head into the pillow underneath him, hair spread around his head. Louis threw his head back, sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead.

With one last moan, Louis rolled off Harry, landing beside him on the mattress. For a while, they just lay there, sweaty chests heaving; loud, heavy breaths filling the air. As the rush of pleasure slowly ebbed off and his breathing steadied a bit, the full impact of his stupidity finally reached Harry, making him realise the big mistake he’d just made.  Because… what the hell? What was he doing here? And why did it feel so great?

At some point, Louis sat up, still naked, and lit another cigarette. He smoked it sitting on the edge of the bed, the bedsheets rippling around his waist. Harry watched his back muscles shift with every long suck, watched the smoke curl over his head, obscuring this sad boy from the world.

Tentatively, Harry reached out and touched the small dimples at the end of Louis’ spine. Louis turned around to him, smoke coming from between his lips. Without knowing what he was doing or thinking much about it, Harry pulled Louis down by his shoulders, and five minutes later he was sitting in Louis’ lap, slowly lowering himself on his once more erect cock. Louis gripped Harry’s hips as he slowly started rotating his hips, picking up pace until eventually, he was full on riding him, head thrown back in pleasure, Louis moaning beneath him, tightly gripping his waist.

The music still quietly droned under them. Harry ran a hand along Louis’ flushed chest, oblivious to anything but the feeling, the coat of sweat collecting on both their skins.

Afterwards, they lay next to each other once more, each in their own world until they fell asleep to the quit throbbing of distant music and each other’s heavy breaths, everything dark.

-

When Harry awoke again, it took him a full twenty seconds to realise where he was and what had happened. There was a pulsating ache between his brows and behind his temples, the result of last night’s alcohol. Groaning, he sat up and saw Louis sitting on the fire escape outside the window, smoking, looking out over the small town. The morning sun had given way to the first waring drops of what surely would become a dismal drizzle. Dark, grey clouds were gathering at the horizon, charging the air.

“Hey,” Harry said, voice raspy. “What time is it?”

Louis who was now dressed in a big orange jumper, replied in a quiet tone, “Around noon, I think.”

“Oh.” Harry paused for a second, not knowing what to say. “Well, do you want to… I dunno… get breakfast, maybe?”

“No, thanks. ‘M not hungry.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry slowly eased off the mattress, messily got dressed and then sat down next to Louis on the iron staircase. “Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” A short, dry laugh. ‘S just, I don’t normally go for a second round.”

“Oh. Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just… You were better than I expected. And I also don’t usually take them up with me.”

“Well, you do have flat mates, so… I guess that would make sense.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t mind. You don’t know how many times I walked in on Niall when we were at uni. That boy doesn’t have an ounce of shame in his body.”

“You sure you don’t want to get breakfast?”

“Yup,” Louis said, popping the P.

“Alright. Then maybe we could, I dunno, go to the cinema together sometime, or-“

Louis flicked away a bit of ash from his cigarette. “Hey, Curly. I’m really sorry, but I don’t want to get breakfast or go to the cinema or anything like that. We slept together, fine. That’s it. That doesn’t mean we’re suddenly best mates or boyfriends or whatever or even that I suddenly like you. To be honest, I still think you’re extremely annoying and I also don't remember a lot from last night, so, we don't have to pretend to like each other all of a sudden now."

Harry put his hands in his lap, legs pulled up to his chest. Louis' words felt stupidly hurtful. He knew they shouldn't be, knew he shouldn't care about them, but he did. "Maybe we could  _actually_ like each other."

"No, I don't think so. I know you're probably used to being loved by everyone you meet, but I'm just not like that. What you need to know about me, Curly, is that I am a deeply fucked up person who you really don't want to spend more time with than necessary."

Harry bit down on his bottom lip, still staring at his hands. He felt anger and sadness rising in his chest, making him feel like a stupid four-year-old boy. The thought made his eyes sting. He swallowed."I would just like to know why you hate me so much."

Louis wasn't looking at him, only keeping his gaze stubbornly on the wrought iron before him and the cigarette in his hands. "Maybe because you're here right now, being annoying. I would just really love to be alone right now, so, it would be awesome if you left now."

Harry pressed his lips together, stood up and climbed back through the window. He grabbed his coat from where Louis had slid it off his shoulders onto the ground the night before, and turned around again. Louis still wasn't looking at him. Harry hated that this hurt so much, hated that he cared. Why did he care? Why did Louis' words hurt so much? A tiny part of his brain whispered the answer. Maybe because he had enjoyed falling into unexplored blue galaxies inside a toilet stall way too much. Maybe because of the utter fascination this boy carried, maybe because of the delicate flicks of his wrist when he pushed back his fringe or held a cigarette, maybe because Harry had had genuine fun last night. Maybe because he had felt something like butterflies in his stomach when Louis had looked at him. Maybe because he had hoped for something. 

Well, that was over now. "I was wrong," Harry said to Louis' back. He wished his voice didn't sound so shaky. "You really are a terrible human being." And with that, he turned around, his eyes stingy with tears. But he wouldn't give in to them. Wouldn't let himself cry for Louis Tomlinson; let him be the reason for his tears. 

The apartment door shut behind him with a definite thud, and he hurried down the stairs, leaving behind the lonely, dark, smoking boy on the stairs. He didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's me! :) 
> 
> I just wanted to quickly thank you for reading and I really hope you're enjoying it for far...
> 
> Love you <3


	4. Red Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the stage.

 

                                                                                                     _Song(s):_

_"Fade" - Lewis Capaldi_

 

Louis walked into the living room and halted before the couch. Niall and Liam were lying on it; a big, assaulting tangle of limbs and drool. Their legs and arms were arranged in angles Louis hadn’t known were even possible. They were both still wearing their clothes from the night before, now crumpled and stained.

Louis watched them for a few seconds, then let himself drop on top of them. Niall opened one eye and squinted up at him, holding up his hands to block the sunlight, and winced. Groaning, he dropped his head back again, hitting it on the wooden edge of the couch. “Ouch.”

Liam now also groggily opened his eyes, grimacing. Niall tried shoving Louis off the couch but Louis held on tight, nearing his face to Niall’s. “Morning, Neil. How do you feel?”

“I feel that you’re an evil gremlin and like I’m about fifty percent dead or a hammer is smashing my skull.”

Louis slightly pulled away again. “Thought so.”

Niall threw an arm over his eyes. “How are you so cheery and awake? You were as drunk as we were.”

“Well, about that,” Louis said, pulling Niall’s arm away from his face again, forcing him to look at him. Niall did so reluctantly. “I guess grave, grave mistakes make one sober up a bit.”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “What’d you do, Tommo?”

Liam sat up a bit. This was probably the first time Louis saw his hair not perfectly styled and his shirt not perfectly ironed. It felt extremely refreshing.

Niall squinted up at Louis. “That bad, huh? You look like you were caught stealing stuffed animals from an orphanage.” Niall folded his arms and waited. “Spill.”

Louis squirmed a bit. “I don’t know why I still tell you guys things.” Liam and Niall merely raised their brows in unison, watching him impatiently. He sighed. “Fine. So-“ He pinched his face, biting his lip. “I kind of… slept with Harry?”

In one second, Liam and Niall rearranged their limbs and sat up as if electrocuted. “What?” Liam demanded.

“Tommooo,” Niall called and shoved Louis’ shoulder. Louis rolled dramatically off the couch and onto the floor, where he landed facedown. “Why’d you do it? I thought you didn’t even like him!”

“Well, I don’t,” Louis mumbled into the floor. “He’s confusing and annoying, but you can’t deny that he looks way too good. Have you seen those _arms_? Besides, I was drunk as fuck. I don’t even remember that much of it.”

Niall and Liam exchanged a look. “Was it good?” Liam asked.

“I told you, I don’t remember.”

“But you have to remember something.”

“Well, I think we went for round two, so it couldn’t have been that bad.” Louis avoided looking in their eyes, and instead kept his face squished against the carpet. “He even slept here.”

“Here?!” Liam burst out. “You mean, he slept here? In your bed?”

“Yeah, I think so. At least he was here this morning. And we sort of… talked.”

”Oh oh,” Niall said and gave Louis an accusing look. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” said Louis defensively. Niall raised his brows and Louis sighed, throwing up his hands. “Okay, fine. I may have been a little impolite.”

“What do you mean?” Liam asked, narrowing his eyes. “We need more explanation.”

“I told him that he shouldn’t get his hopes up and that I still don’t like him or plan to be friends or anything. He didn’t take it that well. But I mean, I was just telling him the truth. What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?”

“You were supposed to be nice!” Niall yelled, dropping back into the cushions. “Why can’t you just be nice to him?”

“That boy doesn’t need my niceness. He has money and is privileged and so goddamn annoying. And I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

With another heavy sigh, Niall scrambled off the couch. “I’m too hungover for this conversation and for you in general.”

“Heey!” Louis protested from the floor. “You once promised you’d always be there for me, remember? That also means listening to me and cheering me up.”

Niall leaned over him. “Yes, I promised to be there for you. Which I am. In here.” He gave Louis’ heart a tender pat. “Silent and hungover.” He stumbled to the kitchen, dragging a still half-asleep Liam behind him.

Louis stayed on the stained carpet and stared up at the ceiling. He’d lied. He did remember the night before. Not clearly and detailed, but he remembered flashes of it. Skin against skin, the hot tightness of Harry around him, heads thrown back in pleasure, exploring tongues and hands. He also had the strobe quick memory of pink lips around his cock- and then darkness as his eyes had closed and all his awareness had poured into other senses.

Without realising it, his fingers had started softly touching a small red love bite on his collarbone, and another memory flickered behind his eyelids. Harry sucking that exact spot, soft pink lips leaving their mark.

Louis abruptly sat up, wrenching his fingers away from the small red spot. No, he wasn’t going to do this. He wouldn’t reminisce about a night with boy he didn’t even like, especially since he could feel himself already getting half-hard in his pants.

The thing was, he wasn’t even so sure why he had been so cold to Harry in the morning, not even given him a short glance. But maybe it was because when he had woken up in a light room and everything had seemed so clear and detailed all of a sudden, he had suddenly felt exposed and disassembled. Vulnerable, maybe. Naked in more senses than the literal one. He had felt like he could be so easily dissected in this light, all the parts that were no longer functioning being on display for everyone to see and inspect. For Harry to see. He had hated that feeling, had wanted the dark blurriness of the night before back in which he could be whatever he wanted to be and nobody took a closer look at all the cracks in his skin.

When he had been younger, Louis, like so many people, had always been afraid to pull his blanket up over his feet while sleeping because of the completely irrational fear that someone would come to chop off their unprotected ankles, even in summer when he had been sweating under the heavy fabric. That’s what Louis had felt like in that moment. Like exposed ankles peeking from under the safety of a warm blanket. And he hadn’t been able to stand it.

So, he had gotten up and taken refuge in one of his biggest sweaters, lighting a cigarette to form a further wall in form of the smoke. And then he had taken the third measure to escape back under the blanket. Making Harry Styles and his eyes that felt like magnifying glasses or a microscope on Louis’ skin leave. The last little touch to his heavy fortress, maybe the moat.

The thing was that now, suddenly, the blanket didn’t feel so safe anymore. It just felt sort of chokingly dark and suffocating.

-

Zayn’s head snapped around from where he was stacking his comic books in some order that didn’t make sense to anyone but him. “You what?”

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I slept with Louis Tomlinson,” he said, voice muffled by his palms.

Zayn dropped one of his Batman issues. “Harry.”

“Don’t look at me like that!"

“Like what?”

“Like you’re judging me and like I made a stupid decision and will regret it for the rest of my miserable existence!”

“Will you?”

“Yes!” Harry said, dropping heavily into the next chair. He spun around and turned himself upside-down, letting his head hang off the bottom, dusting the floor with the tips of his hair.

Tending to his beloved comic books again, Zayn said, “Was it bad?”

Harry threw up his hands. “No! That’s the worst part! From what I remember, and that’s not a lot, it was incredible!”

“Then why do you regret it?”

Harry stared at him incredulously. “Why? Are you really asking me that?”

Zayn nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world and lovingly regarded a picture of Deadpool in his hand.

“Where do I start?” Harry yelled out. “First of all, he hates me and the feeling is now mutual. Secondly, he finally agreed to joining our group and then I immediately had to go and literally fuck it all up. There’s no way he’s going to come now.”

“He did last night, though, didn't he?" Zayn chuckled but when he saw Harry's expression his laughter quickly ebbed off and he turned back to his comic books. "You don’t know that. Maybe the night with you made him realise that you’re his soulmate and that he loves you or summat.”

Harry gave a dry, humorless laugh. There was nothing Zayn couldn’t turn into a penny novel romance. “Yeah, sure. Our wedding is tomorrow, you’re invited. The theme is cigarettes, depression and regret. Wanna come? I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”

Harry could feel his head fill up with blood from hanging upside-down, so he sat up with a small grown and slightly winced. (He was still sore from last night, a fact he tried as hard as possible to forget about.)

“Maybe you actually don’t even need him and the play will be a complete success anyway.”

Harry sighed, pushing dusty hair from his face. “I don’t know. As much as I love him, James doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. None of us do. The thing is, I was really looking forward to working with him, was excited. Until I met him, that is. That was the moment my excitement was suddenly met with a major damper.”

Zayn looked at him with dark, almond-shaped eyes. “I’m sure you can do it together. There has to be someone who has some ideas.”

“The lack of ideas isn’t the problem, they're all just not very good.” Harry scrambled off the chair and stood next to Zayn, regarding the stuffed shelf. “Are you really sure you don’t want to join us?”

Zayn nodded his head with a small smile. “Absolutely.”

In that moment, the phone in Harry’s pocket buzzed and he fished it out, looking at the screen. It was a text from Niall.

_Hey Harold! Wanted 2 ask if maybe my mate Liam could tag along tomorrow for that theatre group of yours. Wanted to make him do something else than sit around and iron his shirts for once. I’ll take that as a yes, See ya later!_

Harry looked down at his phone with a surprised smile and typed out his response.

 _That’s perfect! The more the merrier. See you later xxx H_.

Zayn leaned over his shoulder and read what he typed out. “You still do that weird H thing?”

Harry slid his phone back into his pocket. “It’s not weird. It’s loving and personal.”

“What was that about?” Zayn asked and stashed away another one of the sheer endless amount of comic books.

“Niall told me that his mate Liam would also join.”

Zayn’s head whipped around so fast it was a miracle Harry didn’t hear his neck crack or snap. “Really?”

Harry gave him an alienated look, narrowing his eyes and pushing up his bottom lip. “Umm, yeah. Why? Do you know him?”

Zayn coughed a little and then turned back to the shelf, a small flush creeping up his neck. “No….” A beat of silence in which Zayn arranged and rearranged the issues before him, blush still intact. “Hey, H? I thought about it again and I was wondering if maybe… well… do you think I could… I don’t know, like… Maybe that theatre group will be fun after all, do you think I could still come with you? You always talk about them so much, I’d love to meet them finally.”

A grin spread on Harry’s face as he raised his brows. “Of course, Z. You sure you haven’t met Liam before?”

Zayn cleared his throat, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Don’t know. I think I may have seen him a few times in town. He’s the one with the brown hair, isn’t he? With the warm brown eyes?”

Harry brows went up even further. “When have you ever left your house? You can tell me, Z.”

Zayn sighed. “He saved Mr. Whiskers from being run over by a car, okay?”

“A shame,” Harry joked- Well, half-joked. Zayn glared at him and Harry quickly played his laugh off with a small cough. “So, you like him then?”

“No!” Zayn protested, the blush intensifying. “No, it was just really nice of him to save Mr: Whiskers. He suddenly ran away, Mr. Whiskers not Liam, and I followed him and I saw him running toward the street and was really scared but then” -he cleared his throat and there was a tiny smile on his lips- “that boy with the brown hair came and picked him up and gave him back to me. He was really nice. Smiled at me and everything. I think he also said something but I couldn’t hear anything, so I didn’t reply.”

"Well, I’m pretty sure he’s a fireman so it’s kind of his job,” Harry said.

Zayn looked at him with a dreamy expression. “He is?” A tiny sigh. “A fireman,” he repeated as if testing how the words would feel in his mouth. Judging by the small smile still on his lips, he liked it.

“Then you could talk to him during rehearsals,” Harry suggested.

Zayn's smile disappeared, replaced by an expression like a scared animal. “God, no.”

Harry sighed. “Why not?” He had seen this reply coming, though; knew Zayn too well to still be as naïve as to believe he would actually start a conversation with a stranger. Well, a stranger who rescued your naked animal from an oncoming car. Actually- “Where there even any cars on the road?”

Zayn shook his head. “No, but there very well could have been.”

“Yeah, I guess… So, you’ll come along tomorrow?”

Zayn contemplated it for a few seconds, staring at the comic books before him with absent eyes, then he took a deep breath. “Yeah. What time?”

“Eleven.”

“But that’s before noon!” Zayn said, shocked. 

“I weep,” Harry deadpanned.

“I swear you’re some weird form of alien species that gets up before noon and drinks green smoothies with strange herbs in it.”

“That’s called spinach and isn’t a herb. Besides, no one consumes more strange herbs than you do, just in another way,” Harry said, sniffing the weed-heavy air.

Zayn went back to sorting his treasures. “Great minds need their freedom.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

There was a dreamy look on Zayn’s face. “I’ll see you then, H. And I’ll see him, too.” The last sentence was nearly a sigh, said with a small smile and then a nervous bite on the lip.

Harry had to grin, but then dropped backward onto Zayn’s bed, covering his face in his hands. “Okay, now let’s get back to me and my shame and agony over my own stupidity.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re very narcissistic, Harry?”

“I’m sure Louis Tomlinson would have if we hadn’t started making out. Which leads us back to my stupidity and my hatred for Louis Tomlinson.”

-

“I don’t want to go!” Louis yelled and stumped his foot like a little boy.

Niall stared at him. “How old are you, Tommo?”

“When you stop behaving like you’re my mother then maybe I’ll stop behaving like a little boy,” he said, crossing his arms.

“And when you stop behaving like a five-year-old, then maybe I won’t have to act like your nan.”

Liam stepped into the hallway, dressed in nothing but the towel slung around his waist. Gee, that boy had abs. Louis may have stared for a tad too long. Then again, so did Niall.

“Didn’t you promise him you would go?” Liam asked Louis.

“Yeah, but that was before we drunk-fucked and started despising each other again.”

“I don’t think you despise him. Would you have slept with him otherwise?”

“Of course I would have! There’s no denying what a pretty boy he is and in that moment I would have done pretty much anything, that’s how wasted I was. And I do despise him.”

Liam walked up to Louis and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re dripping on me,” Louis pointed out, holding up his finger to Liam’s wet hair.

Liam ignored him. “You don’t even do this for him. You do this to get on the stage again. You’re doing this because you love it, alright? So, stop whining and get your arse to the theatre.”

Niall peeked over Liam’s shoulder. “He’s right. You’ll wither like a flower if you don’t get some stage light on you soon. You need attention to practice photosynthesis.”

“Humans don’t practice photosynthesis,” Louis gave back with a cocky smile.

Liam turned to Niall, confused. “They don’t?”

“Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say here is that you, Louis Tomlinson, need the spotlight like flowers need water to grow. You’ve been wilting in front of my eyes for way too long and yes, Harry Styles will be there, so what? He’s a nice lad and you could at least try to be friends.”

Louis pulled a face. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’ll go.”

Louis sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I won’t talk to Harry Styles any more than I absolutely have to and if he tries to talk about _The night_ I will leave immediately.”

“Do whatever you want to, Tommo. But do it quickly, ‘cause we have to be there in” -Niall glanced at his watch- “Oh. Three minutes ago.”

Liam’s head whipped around, horrified, and he quickly sprinted back to the bathroom, ripping the towel from his waist and starting to rub his wet hair with it. “Why didn’t you say anything?! We are late because of you! Shit!”

Niall and Louis gave each other a look. 

-

The local theatre was not only tiny, but also run-down and looked like the entire building might collapse any minute. But despite its run-down state, the hall looked- loved. Louis could see these signs of affection and care everywhere he looked. There were rags and scarves hung over the worst-looking parts of the wall, the floor was surprisingly clean, probably recently wiped, and there were no cobwebs in sight. And the stage- Well, it was a stage. Admittedly, one of the smallest stages Louis had ever stood on and that included the one he had performed the Christmas story on in middle school. The night he had known he wanted to become an actor, a performer. What would that Louis think if he could see how he would end up one day?

Louis, Niall and Liam were sprinting down the aisle, the small group of people standing on the stage staring at them with big eyes, surprised by their sudden arrival.

“Sorry we’re late,” Niall panted as they passed the red velvet chairs leading to the stage. “It’s Liam’s fault. He took forever in the shower.”

They climbed up the few steps, joining the others. Harry was standing among them, regarding them -or rather, Louis- with narrowed eyes and pressed-together lips. Well, this would be fun.

Louis was a bit surprised that today, Harry wasn’t wearing one of his expensive blouses, but a worn-out Rolling Stones shirt that looked too big on him, and his usual black jeans that were practically painted on his thighs. The Rolling Stones shirt looked a bit like the theatre. Scruffy and faded with a few holes in it, but still loved and somehow even glamourous.

"Jaaames!” Niall said loudly, walked up to a chubby, small man, and hugged him tightly. The man hugged him back with a bright grin. Of fucking course Niall already knew all these people here. “Let me introduce you to these young fellas,” Niall said to James, turning to Louis and Liam who were awkwardly standing around, not knowing what to do with their hands. Liam decided to leisurely put them into the pockets of his blue jeans, making him look even more like he was right at home on the cover of an M&S Blue Harbour catalogue and Louis next to him even more fidgety. Great. “This is my new flat mate Liam,” Niall told James. “And this is my good ol’ friend Louis.”

James gave him a kind smile. “We’ve already met.” Oh shit. Right. The first week of living in their new apartment, James Corden and his wife had knocked on Louis’ door, introducing themselves to him and invited him and “his partner” (supposedly Niall) to a dinner party at their place. Louis had accepted the tuna salad they had brought him with the attempt of a polite smile and that was that. He hadn’t wanted to talk to them (or anyone, really) at that time and since James had mentioned something about his love for theatre and musical especially, he had guessed their true intention. Or what he had thought to be it, at least. Seeing James now made it hard to still believe the only reason for his visit had been curiosity about the broken, fucked up, way-too-young theatre actor who had shocked the world with his up-fucking.

James grinned at him with a beaming expression that Louis could only describe as ‘Niall-esque.’ James held out his hand. “It’s great to have you two on board. I think this could really shape up to become something great.”

Liam and Louis both shook his hand, then James turned to the watching group of people around them. “So, this is our small group. That’s Eleanor.” He pointed at a young woman with long brown hair who was staring at her phone with a bored expression. When she heard her name, she quickly glanced up and gave a little smile to no one in particular before directing her attention back to the phone.

James pointed to a man standing next to Harry with quite an enormous pompadour and quite an enormous green shirt. The man gave Liam and Louis quite an enormous grin and a wave. “That’s Nick. And the tall man next to him is Greg.” Nick whispered something to Harry and Harry laughed a bit. Louis had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and he didn’t even really know why. Everything Harry Styles did had somehow become an eye-rolling-inducer.

“And those guys over here are Clare, Adam, Sarah, and Mitch,” James concluded the introduction circle, pointing at the four people in quick succession. They all smiled at him, giving little waves. Well, three of them, that was. The fourth, Mitch, just sort of stood there like he was made of ice or stone, not moving a muscle. It was unnerving, to say the least.

James clapped his hands, opening his mouth to start speaking, when suddenly a loud crash from the other side of the stage made them all whip around. Even Eleanor looked up from her phone, nearly dropping it in shock. A boy emerged from the dark backstage area, covered all over with dust and cobwebs. Oh, so that was where all the dirt was hiding.

“Hey, H, look what I found back there! There’s a whole lot of old paint, but I think it’s still usable. But I fell from the chair when I tried to reach- Oh.” He suddenly stopped when he saw all the people gathered before him, staring. The boy turned tomato-red, going completely silent. He had raven-black hair and was wearing skinny jeans over toothpick legs. He looked like one gust of wind might tip him over. That was to be seen.

You could have heard a pin drop on the floor when, finally and to everyone’s relief, Liam held out his hand and walked up to the boy with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Liam.”

The boy perplexedly shook Liam’s head, staring at him with big eyes. “Yeah, I know,” he stuttered.

Liam’s thick brows raised a bit. “You do?”

“Yeah, you- we… You saved Mr. Whiskers.”

Liam stared at him, confused, before his face suddenly lit up. “Oh, yeah! Of course I remember! Lovely cat, you have there.”

Louis could hear Harry make a strange choking noise from where he was standing between Nick and the stone statue Mitch.

“Sorry, mate, but you’ve got some cobwebs in your hair,” Liam continued when the boy didn’t reply anything and only stared at him, flustered. Liam tucked a few white strands from his dark hair and snipped them away. “What did you say was your name again?”

“I’m Zayn.”

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Zayn. Though you have to stop getting yourself in these dangerous situations or maybe there won’t be a third. Running in front of cars, falling off chairs, who knows what’s next.”

“As long as you keep saving me that’s fine,” Zayn said with a tiny laugh and then turned gray when he realized he had said the words out loud.

James seemed to sense this conversation going in some strange way and cleared his throat. “Now that everyone’s met, let’s start, shall we?” Everyone turned their attention to him; well, everyone except Zayn who was still regarding Liam with a dreamy look. “First of all, thank you all for coming, I know we will have a great time. Secondly, as you probably know we will have one performance of whatever play we decide on and we have to try to get as many people to come as possible. But just a reminder: It’s not about how many people watch, it’s about how much the people feel while watching.”

Louis’ left eye started twitching with the oppressed impulse to roll his eyes. He could see the people around him, especially Harry, smile at James’ words.

“And even though I’ll be directing the play, what I really want is for all of us to do this thing together and if you have any suggestions or ideas just go out and say them. Starting with possibly the greatest decision of them all: What play do we want to perform? I was thinking musical. Yeah, I definitely think it should be a musical.”

Oh god, no. Musical. Of fucking course it had to be a musical.

“’Wicked’!” Eleanor yelled out excitedly, clapping her hands.

“I like it!” James replied happily, pointing at her. “Any other ideas?”

“’Oliver Twist’?” Niall said. “I once performed ‘Oliver Twist’ in school, t’was pretty cool.”

“’Lion King’,” Nick suggested and picked the Asian woman, Clare, from the ground while singing the Circle of Life. She laughed and jokingly hit him until he set her down again, that big grin still in place.

Harry raised his hand. “I’d love to do ‘Mary Poppins’.” This sparked an imagine in Louis’ mind of Harry in his golden boots flying around with an umbrella and skipping through painted landscapes with penguins. It did not seem too fallacious. Actually, it was way too easy to imagine.

“I think ‘Mamma Mia!’ would be great!” Greg suggested.

Another few suggestions were thrown out, varying from ‘Annie’ to ‘Les Miserables’ (Harry of course suggested ‘Hair’ which came to no one as a surprise). Nick only ruffled his long locks as  reaction which made Harry look even more like a more refined and urbane Tarzan.

Maybe Louis should suggest they perform Tarzan.

He didn’t. He didn’t say anything.

“Those were all great ideas, thank you,” James chimed in. “But since we can’t be able to agree on anything, I would like to suggest something now. Drumroll please-“ Sarah pretended to hit an imaginary drum set, letting go of stone statue Mitch’s hand. “’Cats'!” James announced with a small flourish and wide grin. “What do you think?”

Everyone nodded brightly and started clapping, except for Louis who just sort of stood there, dumbfounded.

No way.

“No way.” This was the first thing he had contributed to the discussion and everyone turned to him with a frown.

“Why not?” asked Adam.

“Because it’s stupid. And there’s no chance you’ll get me to wear a cat costume.”

“It’s a great musical,” Clare said. “And could be a lot of fun to perform.”

“That’s bullshit,” Louis said before he could stop himself. He skimmed the faces before him. “Sorry, but that’s why your last performances have been so shit. Just reenacting a mediocre musical obviously won’t be good.”

“Maybe we should take a little break,” James said, looking around, uncertain. “We’ll continue in five.”

Louis snorted and turned around, making his way off the stage and down the aisle, trying to ignore the burning eyes on his back, following him as he pushed open the door and left the building. Outside, he leaned against the stone wall and fumbled for a cigarette in his pockets.

Five minutes later, his cigarette was almost fully smoked and he didn’t feel any better. What had made him think this could actually be a good idea? That he could just join a shitty theatre group in a shitty small town and suddenly, acting would be easy again? What had made him think that he could just forget about the life he had had, the one in which he had stood on stage almost every night, hearing the smattering applause of an audience that had loved him?

But standing on that tiny stage had actually unexpectedly felt good. Having the dark wood under his feet, the red velvet of a curtain next to him, looking out over seats waiting to be filled with people. It had almost ached in his chest, this familiar, incredibly addicting feeling of being on stage. After watching a performance of his, his mother had always embraced him and said, “You were born for this, Lou. You were born to be on stage.” And Louis had always believed her. But after that night, when he had fallen off his beloved place, his stage, he had stopped believing it.

Standing in a theatre again today, feeling the soft velvet under his fingertips- maybe she had been right after all. It had certainly felt a bit like… like coming home, maybe.

Turning to the empty audience, he had almost expected to see it filled with people, expected to see his family sitting in the front row with proud faces. They had always been in the front row, cheering the loudest at the end of the play.

Someone cleared his throat behind him. Louis turned around with a small sigh. “What?”

To his surprise, the person standing behind him was stone-statue Mitch. “Hey.”

This was the first time he had heard him speak and it caught him off guard. He hadn’t even been sure Mitch was able to speak. And he also hadn't expected him to be American. “Hey.”

Mitch leaned against the wall next to him. No one said anything and Louis drew hard on his cigarette. “I once watched a play of yours in London,” Mitch finally said. “You were good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re right, by the way. Our last few performances were really fucking horrible. Eleanor once messed up her lines so bad she started crying during the scene. But with you- I thought we could actually have the chance to be good, or at least decent, for once. And trust me, what all of those people lack in talent or knowledge about theatre, they make up for in passion and love for it. Thank you for resisting ‘Cats'. I don’t think my dignity could endure wearing one of those costumes. But you should go back in there now and help them. You have some great things to say and you should say them. And then this whole thing could maybe turn out to not be complete disaster after all; or at least we won’t have to be ashamed to go out on stage that night and have people watch us for the entirety of the play.” Mitch shuddered a bit at those words. “We all thought Harry’s idea to bring you in was brilliant, and I still think that. So. Yeah. See you, maybe.” With that, he pushed himself of the wall and vanished inside the building again.

Louis stared at the door for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out with his shoe. Fucking hell.

-

The door burst open and, once again, everyone’s heads whipped around as Louis Tomlinson, once again, strode down the theatre aisle way too late. And once again, Harry hadn’t expected him to show up at all.

Louis climbed the steps onto the stage and then stood there, arms crossed, face defiant. He looked like a stubborn cartoon character. Harry didn’t get why Louis had refused for them to perform ‘Cats’. In Harry’s opinion, he would be perfect for the musical. He reminded Harry of a cat. The way he lounged on his small brick wall behind the café, soaking up the few drops of sunlight, smoke above his head. Also, he was confusing and creepily smart like a cat and Harry didn’t trust him- not anymore, at least. And the way Louis sometimes pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt to cover his whole hand and rubbed his eyes with it was also something a cat would definitely do. And Harry definitely shouldn’t know about that habit.

“Alright,” Louis spoke up, regarding the people before him. “I’d like to say something: Your idea is bullshit. You shouldn’t perform ‘Cats’ and you definitely shouldn’t simply reenact it. That’s old and stale and boring. And that’s not what this should be. I think you – we - should make something that is completely our own, or at least something old but make it our own. Make it new and exciting. Everyone can reenact an old musical, sing the same songs, wear the same ridiculous costumes. But let me tell you something: That’s shit. That’s boring. Let’s write our own story, or give a new twist to an old one. And if you really want it to be a musical, then write your own songs. Design your own costumes- I’m sure Curly over there already has a lot of those in his wardrobe. And I know all of it will probably be really horrific, but at least it will be unique. And what more could you ask for?”

Harry could see Louis swallow before he continued. “When I was an actor in London, the plays I was in were done by real professionals, they were, in all means of the word, great. Well directed, beautiful costumes, solid scripts- marvelous acting, of course”- he did a small curtsy at those words and the room chuckled a bit- “But you know what they didn’t have? Courage. They were all stale - good, but boring. And I think we could really do something crazy here- I mean, we don’t have a reputation to lose, do we? I know I definitely don’t anymore. And the only people who are gonna see this don’t care anyway. So let’s do something insane. Something that’s completely us.”

Looking around, Harry could see small smiles on everyone’s face as they started nodding. “And what play do you suggest?” Clare asked Louis.

Before Harry could think about it, he could hear his own voice answering her. He didn’t know what made him say or even think it, but there was something about the sight of Louis standing there, like a little boy, hair lit by a spotlight behind him, making it glow auburn, arms crossed. Maybe it was the sight of the long shadow stretching from his trainer-clad feet over the floor.

“Peter Pan.”

Now it was his turn to be stared at by the people around him. Clare’s face split into a wide grin, her eyes lighting up. “I like that,” she said, nodding in agreement.

The others also made approving noises, and James said, “Well, then it is decided, we will perform ‘Peter Pan’ but we’ll make it our own! Harry, Clare, am I right in saying you two would like to be in charge of the costumes?”

Harry and Clare nodded and sloppily high-fived each other.

“Great,” James continued. “Who here can write songs?”

Niall proudly raised his hand. “I study music. Me and Henley will come up with something.”

“Henley?” Adam questioned.

“His guitar,” Liam and Louis clarified as one.

Behind them, someone cleaned their throat and everyone turned around to see Zayn gingerly raise his hand. “I could design the stage. I love to paint. Spray-paint, in particular.”

“Great!” James said with a thumbs-up. “And I guess I will try to write a script-“

“I could also try to come up with something,” Louis offered, now a bit more cautious.

James seemed surprised, but pleased with his offer. “Okay, awesome! We’ll both try to get something on the page and then compare our notes next time, alright?”

Louis gave him a small smile. “Yeah, alright.”

“Great, then let’s just clean up here a bit for the rest of the rehearsal and start properly next time. Maybe a few of us should go backstage and see if they find anything useful there.”

Ten minutes later, Harry was kneeling on the ground of the audience area, cleaning the fabric of the chairs and the dark floor. Turning his head, he could see Louis standing on the stage next to one of the big curtains, lightly touching the material with his fingers. It didn’t look much like cleaning what he was doing.

Not thinking about what he was doing for the second time today, Harry rose from his knees and made his way to where Louis was standing, looking out over the small expanse of the theatre. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Harry approach him.

The last time Harry had been alone with him flashed in his mind, and he could immediately feel his jaw tighten, remembering the way Louis had sat on those steps, not looking at him, all of his words a hard jab in Harry’s flesh.

Louis’ fingertips were still slightly grazing the red curtain. Harry stared at them. He knew what those fingers felt like on his skin, knew what they felt like _inside_ of him.

Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Harry quickly looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor before him. “Alright, I came here to tell you something,” he started. “This is really important to some of us. To me. So, if you don’t take it seriously or this is just some big joke for you then please. Don’t.”

Louis nodded. “Alright, I won’t. I will take it seriously. You were right, I miss the stage and for the opportunity to act again, I will give my best. Don’t want my first performance after me fallout to be absolutely shit.”

“And I also wanted to say that I agree. We don’t have to speak to each other, or be anything more than – colleagues. I would very much love it if we could just forget anything ever happened. I mean, nothing really did. We were both drunk and stupid and clearly not thinking straight. No point in bringing it up again. As you said, you still don’t like me and I certainly don’t like you. So.”

“Yeah. You’re right. No point in false affections.”

“Yep.”

“Good idea, by the way. ‘Peter Pan’. What made you think of it?”

“Oh. Don’t know. I loved the movie and the book when I was little. And maybe it’ll give me the chance to fly on stage, who knows?”

Louis gave him an incredulous look. “That’s why you suggested it? So you can fly on stage?” Harry nodded. Louis looked up to the theatre ceiling. “I don’t think that’s possible here. You’ll probably just break your neck. And from what I’ve seen, one shouldn’t let you climb a wall, let alone fly around on a wire rope.”

“One can hope.”

“Indeed, one can.”

“I feel like we’ve just broken our own rule within the first thirty seconds of creating it.”

Louis cleared his throat. “Yeah, let’s just get back to cleaning.”

Harry bit back a teasing comment about Louis’ lacking cleaning work so far, and instead turned around to descend the stairs. He threw one last look over his shoulder, though, seeing Louis Tomlinson stand on stage amidst the red velvet curtains, looking like he’d been born to stand on the exact spot. Harry sort of wanted to go back and stand next to him, look out over the invisible audience and hear them applaud.

But as he regarded Louis in the dim theatre lighting, the boy also looked as much lost as he was glowing. A lost boy. And Harry was maybe about to become one as well.

He probably already was. 


	5. Empty Swimming Pools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis writes and Harry doesn't make any sense.

                                                                                                      _Song(s):_

_"Step up the Morphine" - The DMA's_

 

Louis had been writing for hours. It surprised him to see sunlight already falling onto the papers on his bedroom floor, letting him know that actual time had passed. Niall was lying on his bed, snoring softly. His blond hair looked like an aflame halo in the streaming sunlight. He was surrounded by Donley and dozens of papers filled with his and Louis’ messy handwriting. The songs.

Louis had never thought that one day he would write an actual song, especially not for a ‘Peter Pan’ amateur musical of all things, but here he was. And the songs weren’t even half bad. The sudden urge in his fingertips, the restless thoughts in his brain, and surprisingly not even one joint had awoken his creative fuels and before he had known it, the words had been pouring out of him, seemingly inexhaustible. Not feeling the pain in his wrist from all the writing, not caring for the bad lighting and Niall’s endless humming and guitar strumming, the pen had flown over the paper as Louis had bitten his lips bloody and watched.

Now, leaning his aching back against the wooden frame of his bed, the sunlight dusting the floor golden, he let himself breathe for the first time all night. It was done. He had written an entire fucking horrible script for an entire fucking horrible theatre production without even stopping to consider it. What the fuck?

This was unexpectant. This was strange. This felt weird and itchy on Louis’ skin, made him want to crawl under the warm dark safety of his blanket and stay there until all of it was gone again, until the floor wasn’t littered with his thoughts and stupid words anymore. He did.

Pushing Niall to the side, he grabbed the blanket from under him and formed a tight cocoon, locking out that annoying sunlight giving him a headache. Maybe if he stayed in here long enough, he would turn into a glimmering blue butterfly and could just fly away. God, he was sleep-deprived. That was something Harry Styles would definitely think. Maybe that’s why he wanted to fly for the play. To become a butterfly. Probably a glittery one. Whatever.

What the hell was happening? He hadn’t even planned or wanted to join that stupid theatre group and now he was even writing a script for them? What the fuck?!

Suddenly, his beautifully dark cocoon burst as a finger peeled up the edge of the blanket and a tired blue eye stared at him. “Morning, Tommo,” Niall’s muffled voice came from reality. As reply, the blanket caterpillar that was Louis rolled over him like a small, soft, comfortable barrel.

“How long did you keep writing for?” Niall’s voice came from somewhere under him.

“Until now.” Louis voice sounded raspy from singing all night and then neither singing nor speaking in any form for an even longer amount of time. Just writing.

Niall’s head popped up as he pulled the blanket layer from Louis’ face again. “Really? Are you done now?”

“I think so.”

“That’s great! Then we can show it to the others today. They’ll be thrilled. After we’ve assembled all these sheets, that is,” he added with a look to the messy floor.

“What have I done?” Louis asked.

“From the looks of it, written something. A lot.”

“Why have I done that?”

Niall shrugged. “Because it’s your passion?”

“No, it’s not.”

“But it certainly looks like the scene of a very passionate encounter in here.”

“Hating passion. Hassion.”

“Is that what happened with Harry? Hassion.”

“Urgh. How did we get so off topic?”

“What was the topic?”

“That I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!”

“In which regards?”

“This whole script thing. This whole theatre thing. This whole life thing.” Louis sighed into the stuffy air of his blanket. “Life.”

Niall stuck his arms in Louis’ cocoon and fumbled around for his hand. When he found it, he pulled it out and patted it like a worried auntie. The scruffy air of the room felt strange and shockingly cool in comparison to the even scruffier air under the blanket. It felt like a splash of ice-cold water. Not refreshing, just shocking. Stimulating.

“No one knows what the fuck they’re doing in this whole life thing. That’s what makes it so exciting,” Niall said, still patting Louis’ palm.

“I’m sure Harry Styles does.”

“He slept with you, didn’t he? So maybe rethink that statement.”

Louis did. “No, I was right.”

“Of course you were,” Niall said with a sigh and scrambled off the bed, gripped the edge of Louis’ blanket and gave it a strong pull, sending Louis crashing to the floor in a mess of soft cotton, feathers, and limbs. “Now get up and present your wonderful creation to the wonderful people of the wonderful theatre. As you may can guess, this will be a wonderful day.” Picking up one of the sheets he had written the songs on, he continued. “And a miraculous one.” He pointed at his writing on the paper with a smile. “That’s the title of one of the songs.”

“I know,” Louis mumbled from the floor. “I wrote on it with you, you knob.”

“Didn’t know if you still remembered. Now come on. Let’s go!”

With a groan, Louis peeled himself of the floor and followed Niall in the hallway where he was standing with Liam, both already prepared to leave. Liam peered over his shoulder to the mess of blankets, pencils and sheets on the floor. “Were you lying on the ground just now? I can’t help but notice you spend a lot of your time on there.”

Shrugging, Louis realized Liam was right. He did spend an awfully big amount of time on floors. His natural habitat, maybe. It’s where he felt safest.

-

“I wrote some stuff down, it’s really bad and unprofessional and I have no idea what I was doing, but whatever,” Louis explained and stretched out his hand with the now sorted script and the songs in it.

Relieved, James took it from him and flipped through the pages. “This is fantastic, Louis. I also tried to come up with something, but nothing came to me. So, basically, I have nothing. But this is a great first step. I’ll read through it real quick and then we can talk about it. Thank you two so much!”

“You’re welcome!” Niall grinned from the other side of the stage where he was sitting with Greg and Liam. James gave both of them another smile and then went down to the rows of seats to read the script.

Louis walked up to where Niall was sitting, chatting with the others. On his way there, he was suddenly stopped by a voice saying, “So, will we get to fly?” Louis turned his head to see Harry sitting on the stage edge, his boot-clad feet dangling in the air. There was a headscarf wrapped around his hair, making it stick up in different directions.

Louis smiled a tiny bit. “Maybe.” Before giving it a second thought, he sat down next to Harry, trying to ignore how much shorter his legs were, dangling off the edge of the stage.

“Do you already know which role you want to play?” Harry asked. “I mean, did you write the script with specific people already in mind?”

“No, not really.” Not strictly true. He would never, not even under torture admit to it, but he hadn’t been able to, for whatever reason, shake the image of Harry fucking Styles flying around the stage from his head. It had been very annoying. Stupid thoughts-

“How did you write an entire script, a musical nonetheless, so quickly? It sometimes takes people years for that.”

“And most of the time, those scripts then actually turn out kind of good, something I can’t say about the words I spew out last night.”

Harry’s legs slightly rocked back and forth slightly. “I guess we’ll see.”

Louis made the mistake of turning his head, the side of Harry’s face now in his direct vision. Being so close to him sparked a small film reel behind Louis’ eyes: skin against skin, hot breaths mingling in the space between mouths, sweaty and exploring hands. Fuck. He quickly looked away again, staring hard and unblinking at the far wall.

“Alright, I should get going now,” Louis stammered and scrambled to his feet, pointing somewhere behind him. “Yeah,” and with that, he was off, making his way through the mess of stage equipment, away from that confusing boy.

-

“Hey, look what I found backstage,” Zayn said as he approached Harry on the stage edge and held a grey wolf mask in front of his face. “There’s a ton of cool shit like that lying around everywhere here. Do you think I can take this home?”

“No. You already have enough stuff in your room. What are your parents going to say when they get home and there are creepy masks on display everywhere? They’ll assume you’ve joined some strange cult while they were gone.”

Zayn leaned close to Harry and whispered, “What do you think of Liam?”

Harry threw a look over his shoulder to where Liam was standing, talking to Eleanor and Adam. With a hiss, Zayn gripped Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t look over to him, he’ll think that we’re talking about him.”

“Aren’t we?” Seeing Zayn’s face, Harry sighed with a small grin. “He’s very nice. Maybe you should ask him out.”

“No! Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Harry shrugged. “Debatable.”

“I will woo him slowly, and before he knows it, he’ll be in love with me.”

“How many times does your cat have to attempt suicide by throwing itself in front of a car until that happens?”

“Mr. Whiskers is a very happy and content cat who doesn’t entertain any suicidal thoughts or inclinations.”

“And what will your wooing look like? More specifically, what will it contain?”

Zayn shrugged. “That, I don’t know yet. But I’ll know when the opportunity arises and then I will seize the moment. _Carpe momentum_.”

“ _Carpe momentum_. Ok.”

In that moment, James returned to the room and hurried down the aisle toward the stage, wagging Louis’ script above his head. “Louis! Niall! I can’t believe it. This is incredible! How did you come up with all of this so fast? Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care. _This_ -“ he pointed an excited finger at the script “-is great. I made a few small changes but it was really good. We can definitely work with this. Definitely. It’s dark, it’s gritty, it’s twisted, it’s daring. It’s great.” He stretched a fist in the air with a beaming smile. “To infinity and beyond, my friends.”

“Wrong story,” Adam pointed out.

“It’s in there,” James replied with a twinkle in his eyes. Clapping his hands, he said, “Alright, I’ll print these out for everyone and then you can read it and choose what part you’d like to play. Actually, let’s do that right now. Louis, you’re Peter.”

Louis’ mouth dropped open. “I-“

“No discussion,” James clipped, grinning. “You’re Peter.” He turned to Harry. “Harold, you’d make a great Hook.”

Harry couldn’t help but deflate a little like an old air mattress. “Yeah, sure,” he managed to get out. That wasn’t the role he had wanted to play. For one second, he saw Louis open his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again. Looking at his feet, Harry listened to the rest of the conversation.

“Greg: You’re Hook’s right hand, Smee.”

“Can’t I be the crocodile? The ticking one.”

“You can be both. Adam, Clare, Sarah, Mitch: You’re our lost boys, if that’s fine with you.” It was.

“Well, I guess then Eleanor is Wendy. But we also still need a Tinkerbell.” Eleanor shrugged.

Harry slowly looked up and, taking a deep breath, raised his hand. “Actually, I would love to play Tinkerbell.”

Everyone’s head turned to him. A beat of silence. Then James smiled at him and nodded. “Ok, I like that.” He turned to Nick. “Will you be Hook then?” Nick pretended to lose a hand which was answer enough for everyone.

Louis cleared his throat. “I think Eleanor would make a great Tiger Lily, actually. And if I may suggest Niall as Wendy Darling.”

Niall’s head snapped up. “What? No way.”

“Come on, you’d make a great Wendy! Got the hair for it.”

“We’re both blond and that’s where the similarities end.”

“You both got that caring quality to you. And you even said this morning you felt like my nan. Then it should be easy for you to transfer that to the stage, shouldn’t it?”

“I’ll kill you, Tommo.”

“You know, I actually considered that being in the script. Wendy killing Peter, that would have been a great twist.” Shrugging, he added, “A shame I didn’t do it.”

Niall jammed a finger in Louis’ direction. “Fine. But I won’t wear a wig and I’m just doing it because of that fucking great solo I wrote for Wendy. I’ll smash that one.”

Fluttering his lashes, Louis said, “Yes, you will, Neil.”

“I guess that leaves me and Zayn for the rest of the Darling siblings,” Liam chimed in.

“No way,” Zayn hurried to say. “I won’t play a part. I’ll just be responsible for the stage setting.”

Liam walked up to him and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending Zayn with his thin limbs and weak posture flying off the stage. "Oh come on, Zayn. It will be fun! I'm sure you'll be great."

Zayn turned beetle-red as he stared at Liam’s fingers on his black shirt, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Alright,” he piped. “I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Liam said with a grin. “I think you should be John. The one with the glasses. And then I guess I’ll be the small one. Michael, if I’m not mistaken.”

James nearly did a somersault with how excited he was. “We have everyone sorted then, have we?”

“But we don’t have a pirate crew yet,” Adam pointed out.

Wagging the objection away with his hand, James said, “I’ll think of something. We’ll figure something out for that. First, let’s all read the script and learn our lines and then we can finally start properly next time.”

The group dispersed as everyone waited for James to print out the script for them. Harry tapped Zayn on the shoulder. “Hey, you could ask Liam if he wants to run lines with you tomorrow. Seize the moment and all that. This is one of those moments.”

Zayn unconsciously touched his glasses. “You think so? But you have to be there, too. I don’t think I could be alone with him.”

“How will you woo him if you don’t want to be alone with him?”

“We’ll see.”

“Then I suppose you won’t ask him to run lines with you?”

“No. But I could ask Niall and then maybe he will bring Liam along.”

“Not on my watch.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would mean that Niall also brings Louis along.”

“So?”

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “I told you, I don’t want to spend any more time with Louis Tomlinson than is necessary.”

“But I saw you talking to him just a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well that was… That was an exception.”

“Was you talking to him yesterday also an exception?”

In response, Harry sighed and closed his eyes. “Fine. Ask Niall.”

“Great,” Zayn said chipperly, already jumping off the stage, and walked towards Niall. Harry watched the two talk for a few seconds, Zayn nervous, Niall jolly. Then, Zayn’s face split into a grin and he returned to Harry on the stage. “It’s all set. I have my first date with Liam James Payne tomorrow.”

“First of all, how do you know his second name? And second of all, ‘date’ is a very loose term in your universe, isn’t it, Zayn Malik?”

-

It was a hot day. Maybe one of the last hot ones before autumn would inevitably turn windy and the air would become crisp, the wind taking the strange, hot, slightly depressing summer atmosphere with it. The sun was high on the sky when Louis rounded the corner of the gigantic house that was the Malik family home. Niall, Liam and Zayn were nowhere in sight; there were merely a few abandoned red sunbeds standing next to a swimming pool. An empty swimming pool, the small blue tiles glinting in the sunlight.

Harry Styles was in the pool. More specifically, he was in a pool in the pool. He was lying on an air mattress drifting on a small blow-up pool Louis was pretty sure was made for children. In Harry’s hand was a pink cocktail which (of course) had an umbrella in it. That seemed like a Harry Styles sort of thing. A pair of sunglasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted, his too-long legs posed over the edge of the Baby pool. The entire picture looked like the cover of a fashion magazine or an indie album.

As Harry heard the sound of Louis’ shoes on the floor, he pushed up his glasses on his forehead. Seeing who the approaching person was, his brows furrowed a bit and his mouth stopped being relaxed. “Oh. It’s you,” he said tightly and leaned his head back on the rubber mattress again.

“Yeah, just me. Don’t worry, you don’t have to get up and curtsy. I can tell you are thrilled to see me.”

“What gave it away?” Harry replied dryly.

Sitting down on the pool edge and starting to fumble for a cigarette, Louis said, “Should I ask what you’re doing?”

“Swimming in an empty swimming pool.”

Louis’ hand stopped in the motion of lighting his cigarette already waiting between his lips. “Ok. I can see that. The question is why.”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense. You were the one who once asked me why he would want to make any sense.”

“Oh, trust me, Curly. I think a lot of things about you, but you making any sense definitely isn’t one of them.” He finally lit his cigarette and took a long suck, then blew the smoke into the hazy afternoon sky. “So, is this some sort of strange metaphor? Does the swimming pool stand for something?”

He could see Harry sucking on his bottom lip, eyes still a mystery behind the obscurity of his sunglasses. “Maybe.”

“I’m not a big fan on metaphors meself,” Louis said. “Better to just say things like they are. Concisely and simple.”

“I’ve read your play. From what I gathered from it, you do like metaphors. You certainly use them a lot; I mean, that whole play is a metaphor.”

“Not my fault if you saw something in it that isn’t actually there.”

“Not my fault if you don’t see something in it that actually is there,” Harry retorted. He lifted his head a bit, looking at Louis over the rim of his glasses. “Then again, that’s also what I thought about you when I first met you and look where we are now.”

“Okay, first of all: Ouch. And second of all, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, look at us, making all chipper conversation.”

Harry pushed the glasses up into his hair and regarded Louis, one eye squinted from the sun. “I liked it, by the way.”

“It’s bad.”

“It’s different, but it’s also funny and there’s still that unmistakable Peter Pan spirit in it. Never growing up, grand adventures, bitter-sweetness.”

“Ever thought about becoming a critic; one of those that interprets plays and books. Food, maybe. Make-up.”

Harry didn’t reply, just kept looking at him. “I liked it,” he said again.

Louis regarded him back. “Why did you want to play Tinkerbell?”

“I told you. I wanted to fly.”

“Other characters also get to fly.”

“But with a lot less glitter.”

Before he could stop it, the corners of Louis’ mouth twitched upwards.

They sat and lay in silence for a while, before Louis said, “So is this a regular thing you do? Swimming in empty swimming pools.”

“I do it all the time. It’s a constant state of mine.”

“Aha. Why isn’t there any water in the pool, anyway?”

“Zayn can’t swim, so I guess there’s no point in him having a water-filled pool.”

“But there is one in him having an empty one?”

In that moment, Niall, Zayn and Liam emerged from the inside of the house through a set of big glass doors leading to the stone terrace. They were all holding various forms of alcoholic beverages in their hands, dark sunglasses glinting on their noses. “What?” Liam said, turning around to Zayn. “You really can’t swim?”

Nibbling on his upper lip, Zayn shook his head.

“He’s like a cat in that aspect,” Harry chimed in from his babypool. “Completely hydrophobic. Maybe that’s why him and Mr. Whiskers get along so well.”

“I could teach you how to swim,” Liam offered excitedly.

Zayn’s face lit, brightness battling with the sun. “I’d love that.”

Harry’s head shot up, glasses slipping askew onto his nose. “I’ve offered to teach you so many times,” he complained.

“But Liam is a trained fireman and I trust him more to save my life than I trust you,” Zayn explained. At the words ‘trained fireman’, a pleased grin appeared on Liam’s face. Louis bit back his comment about the term. Liam was an apprentice at the fire station, if even that.

“Alright, let’s just rehearse our lines,” Niall said and skidded down into the pool, taking his sunbed with him. Zayn and Liam followed. Louis stayed seated on the edge of the pool, watching the four boys before him through the safe obscuration of the smoke in the hot, blurry air. Strange, strange boys. Strange, lost boys.

-

Harry regarded Louis through the uncurling smoke hanging in the air around the boy’s head. Every area of exposed skin was a flattering shade of tan, and sitting there, fine boned and fragile-looking, Harry could almost forget all the reasons he didn’t like him. Could almost forget that night when his own fingers had touched those shades of tan, fine bones enclosed in soft skin tracing his own elegantly pale features. Despite his better instincts, Harry felt a flutter inside his stomach, the temptation he had felt that night still lingering in his bones, the adventures etched into every part about Louis still whispering things to him. Harry used one millisecond of his time to imagine what it might be like, starting another conversation with him, pleasantly talking to him like he talked to the others.

Far away, there was the distinct rumble of an approaching summer thunderstorm, the light of the sun now peculiar: nearly yellow, thick with humidity. They had been running lines for about two hours now, always interrupted by bickering, joking and sassy remarks. Tinkerbell felt right to Harry; marking the passages, speaking the words, humming her solos, had all felt right. The words had felt comfortable on his tongue, and Harry couldn’t help but thank Louis’ writing for that. Whatever he thought of Louis, there was no arguing that he had written a really great, or at least interesting, script, as much as Harry had hated the thought at first.

Absent-mindedly, Harry’s fingers traced the surface of the cool water his air mattress was drifting on. With a concerned look to the approaching dark grey clouds above their heads, Liam said, “Maybe we should go inside. Looks like rain.”

“Ever thought about becoming a weather- instead of a fireman?” Louis remarked, but he scrambled to his feet and looked down at them, waiting. Harry took his empty cocktail glass and followed the others out of the pool and through the glass doors into the house.

“This is a really impressive house, mate,” Liam said to Zayn, looking around the big living room in awe.

Zayn, standing at the kitchen counter, smiled nervously. “Thanks. It’s my parent’s.”

“Must be great for parties,” Niall mused and dropped onto the enormous grey couch. “Did you hear that?” he excitedly asked.

“What?” Liam said.

“The silence,” Niall replied, closing his eyes. “The sweet tones of non-creaking springs.”

“You’re right,” Louis said and reverently sat down next to him. “Ah, _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ about.”

Zayn and Liam also lowered themselves on the couch, Harry the last one to sit down. “No, but really,” Niall spoke up after a few beats of silence, “This place must be awesome for parties.”

“Yes, it is,” Zayn replied. Harry had to contain his features so they wouldn’t give away how amused he was. Zayn hated parties. “Actually, I was thinking about having a party here soon,” Zayn carried on and Harry have him an incredulous look.

In that moment, the clouds outside gave in and heavy rain started hammering against the window panes, lightning splitting the sky in a sudden light glow. Niall sat up. “Amazing! Do you already know when?”

Zayn fumbled with one of the couch cushions, eyes darting around the room, stopping at Liam’s small smile. “I thought maybe next week.”

Harry gave him a look that was supposed to convey the emotion _What the fuck?!_ but if Zayn even noticed it while staring at Liam, he ignored it. Liam stood up and walked over to the TV. “Let’s watch a movie,” he proposed, looking through Zayn’s parent’s DVD shelf. “I think we’ve rehearsed enough for today. I feel pretty confident about my lines.”

Harry looked over to the DVD recorder, panicked. The ‘The Notebook’ DVD he had been watching yesterday (his company a big bowl of ice cream) was still in there and the idea of Louis seeing his choice of movies and making fun about him for it was something Harry could do without. Too late. Louis had already grabbed the empty DVD case from the floor and said, “Am I right in supposing this is yours, Curly?”

The comment made Harry fume and he could feel an angry flush rising in his cheeks. He was about to deny the movie being his, when Zayn, the bastard, replied, “Harry, have you watched that movie _again?_ Doesn’t it get boring after some time? He always does that thing where he says the lines with the actors. Usually he’s Rachel McAdams.”

Closing his mouth again, Harry mustered the biggest glare he could manage. “I’ve never seen that one,” Liam said with a shrug. “We could watch it again if you don’t mind.”

Harry’s fingers toyed with a loose string on one of the couch cushions. “I’m sure there are movies you’d rather see.”

“Are you kidding?” Niall said and put the DVD in the recorder. “Great movie. Remember when we watched it together once, Lou, and we both cried?”

Now it was Louis’ turn to flush and Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Is that so? I didn’t think you were a big movie cryer.”

“I‘m not,” Louis said, curtly.

As the movie started playing, the rain outside spluttered the window panes, the empty swimming pool starting to fill with the relentless downpour, the world seemed to go black-and-white. Nothing but the flicker of the television and the sound of rain.

At some point, Zayn went to the kitchen to get snacks and Harry went after him, excusing himself to the toilet. In the kitchen, he grabbed Zayn’s arm as he was filling a bowl with popcorn, and said, “What the hell, Zayn? A party. Really? You hate parties.”

“Not parties that Liam Payne attends. It’s all part of my wooing-plan,” Zayn replied in his quiet, calm voice.

“And how planned out was that whole wooing plan?”

“Not very planned out. I seized the moment. _Carpe momentum._ ”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect this whole seizing thing to involve me having to help you prepare a party. And I also expected it to be, you know, a little smaller, maybe. Like a game night or something like that. Cinema.”

“I don’t think you have to plan out parties nowadays, H. It’s not like with our parents where every cocktail party takes six weeks of organizing. Here, you just say that you’re having a party and people will turn up all on their own.”

Harry ate a mouthful of popcorn and threw his hands up in a defeated movement. “Fine. Whatever. Woo Liam Payne however you want. Even though I don’t think this will lead to anything.”

Zayn gave him a quiet smile and handed him the popcorn bowl. “Everything does.”

Harry stayed in the kitchen for a minute after Zayn had left, absently munching on a popcorn. From the other room, he could hear Ryan Gosling’s depressingly familiar voice telling Rachel McAdams the he’d be a bird if she was and suddenly, there was a sad lump in his throat. He also wanted someone to be a bird for him, god damn it!

In that moment, he heard the quiet tap of footsteps behind him and turned around, expecting to see Zayn, but was surprised by Louis standing behind him. “Oh,” he said through the popcorn in his mouth, and turned back again.

Rain ran down the glass of the windows like tears. With a little hop, Louis sat down on the kitchen counter and opened a packet of gummy bears lying next to him. There was something direct and electric and realabout Louis Tomlinson, that intense, undiluted emotion of childhood still not lost. Most people lost it. Harry had probably lost it along the way; during one of the endless dinner parties with his father. Lost it among the red ties, little black dresses, fake smiles and golden chandeliers. What a stark difference to the sight of the boy before him, sitting on a kitchen counter in tracksuits, eating Haribos. _Real._

Louis held out the packet. “Want one?”

Tarrying, Harry reached out a hand and rummaged in the packet for a while before choosing a yellow one. “Well that took you awfully long,” Louis commented and peered inside the bag. “What’s wrong with all the other ones?”

“Oh, come on,” Harry replied while chewing the bear. “Everyone knows the green ones are the worst ones. It is a truth universally acknowledged.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, is it now? I am rather fond of the green ones. And you seem to be very passionate about this subject.”

Slowly losing the heaviest of his pretenses, Harry replied, “My mother and sister used to call me Harrybo because I loved them so much. I used to write it on all of my packages.” After a brief pause he added, “You know, Harrybo with a y instead of-“

“Yeah, I get it,” Louis interrupted with a smirk. “’M not stupid, you know?” No, that he certainly wasn’t. Louis Tomlinson was a lot of things in Harry’s opinion, but stupid certainly was not one of them. “I think you’re being unnecessarily cruel to the green ones,” Louis said, placing one of them in his mouth. “Whatever did they do to deserve such awful behaviour toward them on your part?”

A small bark of a laugh, almost but not entirely without mirth, burst from Harry.

“What?” Louis asked, looking up. Lightning lit his face from the side for a second, giving his features an otherworldly glow. The black and grey rainy world behind him seemed to be a canvas painted on the windowpanes. A very veridical canvas, painted by such a dowered artist the drops of water actually moved down the glass in tiny rivers. “Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I just hadn’t expected to be part of such a detailed conversation about Haribo gummy bears today. Especially not with you, Louis Tomlinson.”

“What sort of boring conversations do you already know about before them happening, Curly? Aren’t conversations supposed to be unexpected? The topics at least. And besides, I couldn’t imagine a better topic than sweets. I must say, this has been by far the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a while.” His smile reached his eyes then, just for a moment. A flicker of light on dark water.

“You’d be surprised by how many conversations can be exactly predicted. I’m used to repetitive conversations.”

Louis hopped off the kitchen counter and brushed a few imaginary crumbs from the spot. “I suppose you are quite used to conversations about golf, champagne, pheasant season, and I don’t know… shrimps, maybe?”

“Actually, the conversations are mostly about money, politics and polo. Different dog and horse breeds are also a popular topic. And they aren’t about shrimp, just usually held over a giant meal of them. You can have whatever food you want, as long as it contains shrimp.”

“See, I knew it,” Louis said, turning around. “Have you ever thought about shrimp-flavoured gummy bears? I would love to try those.”

Harry scrunched his nose. “Sounds awful.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Maybe you’re right. I’ve always wanted pink gummy bears and I would absolutely prefer having horse breed conversation over a meal of pink Haribos.”

In that moment, Niall’s voice called from the living room, “Hey, lads! Could you please speed up a bit? I’m waiting for my popcorn and I don’t think either of you want to miss a shirtless Ryan Gosling scene. So get over here and delay your shagging conversations to another time.”

Blushing, Harry grabbed the bowl from the table and walked back into the living room without a comment, Louis following him.

After the movie had finished and the credits started rolling, Zayn asleep on Liam’s shoulder who didn’t dare move and wake him, Niall fully asleep next to them, Harry’s eyes drifted over to Louis' silhouette in the dim lighting. And, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized that maybe he couldn’t hate Louis Tomlinson after all. That maybe, just maybe, he could actually grow to like him. Or maybe, though he would never admit to it, and despite everything that had happened between them, he already did.


	6. Bathroom Tiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry functions as a carpet and Louis misunderstands the use of bathtubs.

                                                                                          _Song(s):_

_"Do I wanna know?" - Arctic Monkeys_

_"Acid Rain" - The Growlers_

Louis had never thought he would one day rather drown in a puddle of his own vomit than wear a shirt. But he wore it. With as much dignity as he could muster. For about ten minutes.

Then, Niall’s quiet cackling behind him as he rehearsed his scene with Nick (pardon, Captain Hook) became too much for his vulnerable dignity to handle, and he ripped the large green shirt covered in giant plastic leaves off his body. A few pearls that had been loosely threaded along some of the leaves clinkered to the floor and rolled off the stage.

“No way,” he said, scratching the itchy red skin of his upper body. Those glittery leaves had fucking hurt. “I’m not going to wear that. I’m sorry, Clare. Curly. But you will not get me inside that thing another time. Uh uh. Nope. I would rather-“ Seeing Harry and Clare loudly cackle from the audience area, he abruptly stopped speaking. “What?” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “Why are you giggling like that?”

Harry had succumbed to his laughter and fallen off the chair to the ground where he was now lying, holding his stomach. Harry Styles made laughing seem easy. When he laughed, it wasn’t only his lips forming the shape, not just a show of teeth and a few noises. No, when Harry Styles laughed, his entire body did, too. There was an explosion on his cheek, leaving behind that dimple-crater and his nose scrunched up like a bunny’s and his eyebrows lifted just barely, like he was surprised by his own laughter. And then there was the noise. Over the little (but of course still way too long) time Louis had known him, he had gotten to know a fair share of Harry Styles laughs. It seemed like a bottomless pit.

Every day, a new one seemed to be added to the list. There was the cackling laugh, the subdued laugh, the loud laugh, the guffawing laugh, the quiet laugh, the tucked-away laugh, and the laugh he had reserved especially for Louis and his ironic comments. Those laughs were small ones, ones that he always tried to hide but Louis still caught them out of the corner of his eye every time. Those laughs were almost always accompanied by a roll of the eye and a scrunch of his nose.

Yes, Harry Styles made laughing seem easy. Which it wasn’t. At least not anymore.

“What the fuck are you laughing about?” he asked the two people curling on the seats beneath him.

“I think it’s a joke, mate,” Greg said through the makeshift green cardboard box supposed to resemble a crocodile head.

Louis turned back to Clare and Harry. “I don’t actually have to wear this? Thank god. I had already started planning my daring nightly burglarizing and cutting that thing to shreds, pretending it had been a racoon the next day.”

“I don’t know if there are actually any racoons in the area,” Zayn gracefully informed them.

“Yes. Thank you. I don’t fucking care,” Louis gave back with a faux exaggerated smile.

“It’s a bad alibi,” Zayn replied absently, pushing the large black top-hat he was wearing from where it had collided with his glasses.

Clare and Harry seemed to have regained a bit of their composure. Clare was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Sorry, but you looked too funny in that shirt,” she said.

“Yes, very funny,” Louis clipped. “Now, can someone please point me to my actual attire?”

“We don’t have that yet,” Harry said, scrambling off the floor. “Still working on it.”

“Please let the next one be without scratchy sequins and rubber leaves.”

Harry gave him a cocky smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Louis returned the smile, squinting his eyes closed, and flipped him off. “Thanks.”

James clapped his hands from his spot next to Harry and Clare. “Alright, let’s get Louis a new shirt and then take it from the top!”

Nick who was lying on the floor, dying, raised a plastic saber in the air. “I still need that ketchup. Otherwise it won’t seem authentic.”

“It doesn’t have to be authentic; Peter Pan doesn’t have a shirt and Greg is wearing an apple juice carton on his head.”

“But I have to rehearse it for when it actually has to be authentic, don’t I?”

Niall, spread on the ground next to him, sat up. “I would also like some ketchup, please.”

“I still don’t know if it’s appropriate to let Wendy almost bleed to death,” James remarked. “What should we tell the kids that are watching?”

“Hold on,” Nick said, offended. His large Hawaiian shirt was so bright it hurt a little to look at him. “So you’re saying it’s okay for Hook to die but not for Wendy? That is awfully insulting and scathing.”

“Wendy doesn’t die, though,” Sarah corrected from her spot on one of the fake papier-maché palm trees Zayn had artistically constructed and then painted various shades of neon colors. “Peter does.”

“At least _someone_ has read the script,” Louis japed.

“But I thought you don’t know if he dies or not,” Harry said. “It’s an open ending, isn’t it?”

Louis shrugged.

“Don’t worry, you will get that fake blood and hopefully even something that is better than ketchup,” James chimed in.

“One more thing,” Adam now said. “Does anyone know what we are going to do about the missing pirate crew yet?”

Suddenly, Harry sat up as if electrocuted, seemingly surprised by his own idea. “I think I do,” he exclaimed, a grin spreading on his face.

“Ok, now that that’s handled,” James sighed. “Let’s take it from the top. And Mitch, please don’t fall off the tree again. Oh, and Louis: less swearing this time. It’s still Peter Pan.” Another sigh, followed by a small smile and knowing raise of the eyebrows. “You can take the boy out of Doncaster, but you can never take Doncaster out of the boy, apparently.”

-

Harry sat in Mrs. Clarke’s overstuffed living room, drinking bitter, smoky tea with his aunt and her embroidery-pattern-obsessed group of friends while her herd of cats mewled and purred and rubbed against his trouser legs.

“It is so lovely of you to join us for tea again, Darling,” Mrs. Proctor said over the rim of her cup and padded his hand. “We haven’t seen you in so long. You’ve just been so busy with that play of yours all the time, but don’t forget about us old frumps.”

“Of course not,” Harry replied with a smile. “I could never.”

“So,” another lady changed the subject. “How is the town treating you? Do you like it? Have you met anyone special?” The last question was said with a suggestive raise of the eyebrows and followed by giggles around the table.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Harry said, slightly shaking his head.

“Oh, come on!” his aunt exclaimed from across the table. “You spend so much time doing god-knows-what all around town, I’m sure you must have met a nice boy or girl.”

Harry's thoughts raced back to the sweaty night in the dark pub, Louis Tomlinson's roving hands and his own loud moans. Heat crept up his neck and he quickly buried his face in a tea cup. “No, no one,” he mumbled into it. He also didn’t mention the falseness of her statement, since most his time was spent in her flat, speaking to the cats, watching movies and knitting, only occasionally interrupted by rehearsals or visiting Zayn.

Thinking about it now, the full clarity of how sad and dull his current life actually was crashed over his head like a giant wave. This hadn’t been what he had expected from his _new_ and _exciting_ and _adventurous_ and _thrilling_ new life as an actor. Not what he had expected at all.

“Well, you do spend quite a lot of time with that friend of yours, the one from the Malik family. How are things with him?” She poured herself another cup.

“Zayn is great. We’ve known each other for what feels like forever.”

“And what happened to that plan your mother told me about?” she continued the interrogation. “Asking-“ she wagged an uncertain hand in the air. “What was his name again? That actor.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry helped out, staring intently on a biscuit crumb on the flower-patterned table cloth.

“Ah, yes, that one! What happened to your plan of asking him to help you guys out in the theatre?”

“He said yes,” Harry replied, lifting his head to meet all the wrinkled, powered faces before him.

Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. Addison happily clapped their hands. “That is splendid news, darling!” Mrs. Addison called.

“Yes, it is,” Harry replied tightly and helped himself to a piece of apricot cake.

“Your mother must be so proud of you,” Mrs. Thomas said, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“She is,” Mrs. Clarke replied to her, seeing her chance at knowing something the others didn’t. “I talked to her this morning and she told me all about Harry’s early plays at school and how proud she was, looking up at the stage to see her baby there. So this is also very exciting for her.”

Harry was mortified by his mother telling anyone about his early works in school play. Most notably, his abasing performance as 'camel number three' in a very meta and defused version of 'A passage to India'.

“And what about your dad?” Mrs. Thomas dug deeper. “What does he make of all this?”

The table suddenly went deadly quiet, nothing to be heard but a few last gulps of tea and forks being awkwardly set down on saucers. Harry cleared his throat. “Robin finds the idea amazing, he’s very supportive.”

Dear, old Mrs. Thomas whose mind was, politely phrased, long past its peak, visibly shown by the fact that she was wearing a large sheath on her fuzzy grey hair, was blissfully unaware of the tension in the room and turned to her friends, a confused wrinkle between her brows. “Robin? I thought Harold’s father is called Desmond. I was so sure of it. Ol’ Desmond Styles.”

Mrs. Clarke padded her friend’s shoulder for a moment, and then said, “No, Helen, you’re right. But remember, I told you lot about Robin. He’s Anne’s new husband. Harry’s stepdad.”

Harry had of course known that the whole town had been, and still was, talking about his mysterious arrival here, but having the confirmation still made him feel uneasy. If only all the people in the town knew that the mysterious, handsome stranger they were speculating so much about spent a good amount of his time watching ‘Bridget Jones’ movies in a cloud of old, loud cats, they would probably be quite disappointed. Harry himself was disappointed about the dull reality behind the façade of polite smiles and peculiar choice of clothing. Maybe he should be more like Louis. Smoking and being miserable definitely had that air of mystery about it, but it wasn’t the sort of mystery Harry enjoyed.

If there was anything his aunt’s friends liked more than tea, it was gossip. “Oh, yes, quite right,” Mrs. Thomas said now. “I forgot about that. You must excuse me, I haven’t been myself since George has left us three years ago.” At his, she folded her hands and looked at the ceiling, heavenward. “May God protect his dear soul and not let him drink too much of that whiskey he loved so much.”

Everyone at the table bowed their head dutifully for a moment, before the merry chatter started up again and the clinking of cups and cutlery filled the stuffy air once more. “So, you haven’t actually told us yet,” Mrs. Proctor said over the rim of her cup. “How is that play coming along, honey?”

Harry sipped on the slightly bitter tea and offered a bright grin. “Thank you for asking, Annie. That’s actually what I’ve come here to talk about with you.”

All heads turned to him, painted brows raised in surprise. “Oh, is it? What’s on your mind, darling?”

Harry set down his tea cup. “Well, we sort of have a lack of actors. As you know, we have decided to perform our own version of ‘Peter Pan’, but we are sort of missing a pirate crew. So… I was wondering if maybe, if you don’t have anything better to do, you would want to play the parts?” Before he could entirely finish the sentence, his voice was drowned out if an explosion of excited squeals and cries of delight. “I suppose that’s a yes?” Harry asked with a grin.

Mrs. Clarke jumped to her feet and hurried over to him, throwing her clinkering arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry! This is amazing.” She drew back and pinched his cheeks like he was seven years old again and she was visiting him and his mother for a birthday. “You are such a good boy, giving us a chance like that.”

Harry waved it off with a hand gesture. “Oh, it’s nothing. Thank you for helping us out.”

Mrs. Proctor had spilled her tea in excitement but no one seemed to notice or care. “I have always wanted to be an actress! My late husband did always say I looked like an early Marlene Dietrich.”

“This takes me back to my early twenties when I worked as a model in Paris. Well, I almost did. An agent had spotted me on the street and gave me his number but I never actually got around to calling him. That has always been my biggest regret.”

“We will be amazing pirates!” Mrs. Thomas said, constructing an eye patch out of her flower-pattered (what else?) napkin. “Ruthless!”

“Oh, this will be such a nice exchange from our usual crocheting evenings.”

“Aren’t you too old to be pirates?” a voice suddenly asked from the pale pink couch and everyone spun around. The voice had come from Mrs. Clarke’s nephew Jack. Harry had almost forgotten he was even there since he was glued to the same spot as always, eyes on the video game he was playing. This was maybe the most Harry had heard him speak ever since he had moved in.

Mrs. Clarke made a disapproving sound with her tongue. “Piracy doesn’t have an age, Jackie. Stop confining yourself to those useless frameworks.”

“Alright,” Jack replied, turning his head of red hair back to the telly. “Can I come and watch the play then at least?”

“I’m actually not sure if you’re old enough to see it,” Harry replied carefully. “It’s not exactly made for children.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t get scared easily. Besides, it’s Peter Pan. And I’m thirteen years old.”

“It’s not about being scared, exactly, it’s… Actually, you’re right. It would be great if you came to watch it.”

“Ok. I'll think about it.”

Wow. What a day of miracles. The first actual conversation with his cousin. Harry was very pleased with himself and how the day had been going so far. But that wouldn’t last very long. Today was the day of that stupid house party Zayn had instinctively dragged them into. Well, nothing was perfect.

With a look to the clock on the wall he rose to his feet. “I should get going now, I promised my friend to help him with something.”

He gave each lady a kiss to their powdered cheeks and then left the flat to the sounds of the tea party discussing their stage outfits, their performances, and their excitement.

-

It was a cool night, the last shreds of lasting summer now gone, fully replaced by the crisp chill of autumn.

Louis entered the lonely, giant Malik house and was immediately greeted by a large throng of moving bodies, loud music and darkness split by fluorescent lights. He had no idea where all these people had come from, but waded his way through them in search of a familiar face. Liam and Niall had left for the party earlier than Louis who had had to complete his shift at the pub.

Grabbing a cup of beer on his way, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, hoping for luck there. “Tommo!” a voice called behind him and he turned, relieved, to see Niall, raising his drink in Louis’ direction.

“Hey!” Louis called back over the loud droning of music. “Where are the others?”

“You mean, like, Harry?” Niall asked with a brazen grin.

Louis gave him a look. “No. I don’t care where Harry Styles is, thank you very much. Where is Liam?”

In reply, Niall inclined his head in the direction of the large patio where Zayn and Liam were sitting next to each other, laughing. Louis had never seen Zayn laugh that much since he had met him. It was a full-on laugh, shoulders pulled up, head thrown back. Liam looked very pleased with himself, his cheeks turning red at Zayn’s laughter. “I think they are bonding over Batman comics,” Niall said.

Turning to the balcony doors again, Louis saw Zayn offering Liam a glass of red wine. Liam accepted the glass of wine Zayn had pressed into his hand, but Louis didn’t fail to note that when Zayn turned back to the table next him, his back turned to Liam, he poured a finger of amber-colored liquid into a glass and knocked the contents back before facing him again. Louis nearly had to laugh at the helpless crush unfolding itself in front of him. It was like being back in third grade (with more alcohol and less hair-pulling of course). Although he could imagine Liam tugging at one of Zayn’s raven colored strands to get his attention.

“So, what do we do now?” Louis asked, turning back to Niall. “Don’t want to disturb the two lovebirds, do we?”

Niall grabbed Louis’ hand and pulled him down the stairs. “Now, we dance.” He gave Louis a little twirl. Louis smacked his chest in response.

Greg and Eleanor made their way through the crowd towards them, both already staggering a bit. “Helloo,” Eleanor greeted them in a lilting voice. She peered into Louis’ cup and then led it to Louis’ lips with her manicured index finger. “Drink up. We’re dancing.” Louis obeyed and tried not to choke on the drink Eleanor practically poured down his throat.

Thirty minutes later, his skin was sweaty, his feet were hurting, his cup had been refilled three times, and he almost burst with the need of a toilet. “I have go for a wee!” he yelled in Niall’s ear over the music.

“WHAT?” Niall yelled back.

“I said I have to go for a wee!!!” he yelled even louder.

“Mate, you have to speak up!”

“I SAID: I HAVE TO- You know what, forget it.”

Niall had stopped listening anyway, fully concentrated on the dancing and making promising eye-contact with some girl at the far end of the room. With a sigh, Louis turned around and pushed his way through the grinding and rotating bodies, trying to ignore the pungent smell of sweat, alcohol and crisps. Now, where was the restroom in this place? Tumbling up the staircase, the music became more distant, quieter, leaving more space for a headache forming at his temples. Great.

The upstairs area was, if possible, even fancier than the downstairs. Old, thick rugs covered the floor, the dark Victorian furniture covered in a layer of dust. That made sense. Louis couldn’t imagine Zayn cleaning up in his spare time, neither could he see Zayn letting a cleaning lady in the house, and having to, god forbid, take part in a conversation with her.

Without his, in a sober state already lacking, orientation skills, he stumbled around the house for a bit, trying not to think of things like running water, liquid and waterfalls. But then, abruptly, he stopped and looked at the ground. There was something lying there on a thick oriental rug which Louis had almost tripped over. The something had a glass of fizzy golden champagne in one hand, a head full of dark locks spread around its head and way too long spidery limbs with silvery blue boots on its feet.

“Curly! What the fuck are you doing down there? I almost killed you. Fuck that, _you_ almost killed _me_. I could have broken my neck and I don’t want my gravestone to say ‘Louis Tomlinson: lost to darkness, liquid and an unfortunately positioned boy.”

Harry cracked open one green eye in the dim lighting and said, “I thought I recognized those lovely swears from somewhere.” The words were slurred. Harry raised a hand, drawing the following words with his fingers. “And your gravestone would probably say: Here lies Louis Tomlinson, friend, smoker, arsehole.”

Louis tilted his head to the side. “Yeah. Probably.”

Harry giggled. Actually fucking giggled. “You’re upside down.”

“That can happen when one lounges on the ground and looks at people from their most unflattering angles and from the wrong side. If it helps, you’re upside-down too.” With a look at Harry’s unfittingly fancy and elegant champagne glass, he said, “Say, how many of those did you have, Curly?”

Harry closed one eye and looked up at Louis and the expensive chandeliers above him, his lips moving as he counted. “This is four. I think.”

Without giving it another thought, Louis lay down next to Harry on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a few heartbeats, he turned his head and found himself being regarded by a pair of green eyes amid the velvety darkness of the corridor. “You know, most people like me.”

Louis heard his own dry laugh echoing off the walls. “I bet they do.”

“You don’t.”

“Well, you also don’t like me, so. That’s only fair.”

Harry’s voice was quiet, odd and unfamiliar after the droning loudness from downstairs. The silence in the hallway was heavy and seemingly much louder than the music downstairs had been. “I did. At least I tried. But you didn’t want me to like you. I don’t get you, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Most people don’t.”

“But I want to.” This was uttered so quietly, Louis wasn’t sure Harry had actually said it or if it had just been a distant ringing in his ear. Something he had wanted to hear maybe. No. “And I think you want that too. You want to be found in the smoke.”

Ok, apparently Louis had not been imagining things. He gave a small, humorless laugh. “And I think you’re drunk.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled in the dark. So did his boots. This boy. Harry was one of those people artists would want to draw, whose sparkling eyes could make one spill every secret, who could purr love songs in a deep voice and eat ruby-skinned cherries on sun-warmed balconies in Italy. And maybe because of all that, Louis couldn’t bring himself to like him. Because of his money and his good family name, because of his handsome smile and his easy laugh, because he liked people and they liked him back. Because he said things like wanting to find Louis in the smoke and made him feel like an exposed ankle. And yet… And yet nothing. That was it.

“So, is this also something you do regularly? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a very beautiful ceiling, but doesn’t staring at it get boring after a while?”

“Is it?” Harry said, shifting a bit. “I hadn’t noticed the ceiling yet.”

Louis looked at him again. His pale skin looked like porcelain in the dark. Actually, his entire body did. Like a cracked piece of porcelain that had fallen to the ground. This cracked piece of porcelain next to him seemed so different and foreign from the boy who had happily laughed just this morning when he had seen Louis in that ridiculous outfit. Louis wondered which of the two versions was the real one. Maybe they both were.

“You are right. That is a very nice ceiling.”

“Mmh. Nice shoes, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied in his slow melodious voice and lifted his feet off the ground so they formed a 90 degree angle with his upper body. Louis’ feet also lifted and for a moment, they both stared at their hovering shoes above them. Sparkly, silver-blue boots and worn-out, black trainers. “You are a good Peter Pan,” Harry said to their feet.

“Thank you. For what it’s worth, you’re also a pretty good Tinkerbell. I like that little dance step you do during our duet.”

“Do you think people will boo us?”

“No. We’re not even half bad.”

“Do you think they will throw roses?”

“I’m sure they will shower us with them. We will get entire buckets of them thrown over our heads.”

Harry sighed. “That would be lovely.”

“Quick question: What are you doing here?”

“Here as in, at Zayn’s party lying on the floor with my mortal enemy or as in what am I even doing in this town? The answer to both questions is: I don’t know.”

Louis couldn’t help the quiet giggle escaping his mouth. “’Mortal enemy’? Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I said it. Dramatic affect and all.”

“Anything for the drama.”

“Yup.”

“You are not my mortal enemy, Curly.”

“But you still don’t like me.”

“Not particularly, no. Though I must admit you’re growing on me. You and your weird words. But let’s go back to mortal enemies. I liked how that sounded.”

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Here as in on the ground with my least favorite fairy or here as in why am I in this town? Like you, I don’t have an answer to that second question, but I did go up here because I had to go for a wee but couldn’t find the loo. And you seemed like a pleasant aberration from my quest. Like the wolf from little Red Riding Hood, luring me off the path.”

“I didn’t lure.”

“No, but you nearly killed me when I almost tripped over you. You’re a danger for the general public.” After a brief pause, he added, “I should get going now, I do really need a loo,” and scrambled to his feet. “Have fun-“ he vaguely waved in Harry’s direction “-doing whatever the fuck it is you’re doing.”

He had nearly rounded the next corner when the bitter chocolate voice behind him quietly said, “Third door to the right.”

For a second Louis didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh, ok. Thanks.” He threw one last glance at the broken piece of glittery porcelain on the floor, wondering again why someone with a life as perfect as Harry Styles had to resort to wearing a mask when he wasn’t alone.

He made his way toward the right door and stumbled inside. When he had finally finished his very pressing, at this point almost painful urge, he leaned against the door for a moment. Then, without knowing why, he climbed into the bathtub and sat there, legs slung over the edge. There was a constant tapping of waterdrops from the sink. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Louis closed his eyes, listening to the distant thrum of music from downstairs and wishing he had thought of bringing cigarettes. Suddenly, the door burst open and Niall’s body was silhouetted in the dim lighting from outside. “Tommo! What’s the craic?” Whenever Niall was drunk, he seemed to somehow become even more Irish.

“Nothing,” Louis replied, looking at Niall from beneath heavy eyelids. “Just hanging out in me tub.”

“As you do,” Niall said and stalked to the toilet, opening his flies. “I’ve been looking everywhere for the toilet. Rich people have strange houses. Luckily I stumbled over a very helpful carpet who pointed me to the right direction.”

“Did the carpet wear glittery boots and drink champagne?”

“You know it,” Niall answered, zipping up his trousers, then lowered climbed into the bathtub, next to Louis.

The door burst open again, Liam standing in the frame. “Finally!” he called out. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Couldn’t find you, though.”

“Let me guess, Harold told you?”

Liam nodded, then seemed to register that Niall and Louis were sitting in a bathtub and stared at them for a few seconds with a strange expression. Then, with a shrug, he squeezed himself into the tub as well. “Look what I’ve brought,” he exclaimed, holding up a few empty glasses and a bottle filled with some honey-colored liquid.

“So, how come you aren’t with Zayn anymore?” Niall asked, watching Liam pour them all a glass.

“There was an emergency with his cat. Apparently she started to attack his comic books or something like that. Isn’t it amazing that he collects comic books?” Niall and Louis glanced at each other knowingly and took their drinks from Liam’s hand. “You’re very quiet this evening,” Liam said, putting his face up to Louis’. “Why are you being sad and quiet in a bathtub during a party?”

Louis gave him a rueful smile. “It’s because I am an artiste. And that’s what artistes do. Be quiet and solemn in bathtubs.”

“So, about you and-“ Niall said, turning to Liam when the door burst open again, revealing a rumpled looking Harry Styles, the light from the bathroom giving his body a golden glow. His black-and-white pine needle stiped blouse had slipped to the side a bit, revealing most part of his chest and the cross necklace hanging around his neck.

“Why, hello. Look who has decided to peel himself off the floor and stop being a hazard to everyone around him,” Louis cheered, raising his glass in Harry’s direction. He put a hand over on his chest. “I am very proud of you, Curly. Spot the issue and then take action.”

“I was wondering what the three of you were doing in here for so long. I should have guessed.”

Niall softly patted the spot in the bathtub next to him. “Why don’t you join us, Harold?”

A bit of raven-black hair peeked over Harry’s left shoulder, followed by a pair of eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes. “Zayn!” Liam exclaimed and sat up, face lighting up. “Is everything okay with your cat?”

“Yes, she’s fine,” Zayn replied with a dreamy smile and then pulled Harry by the arm into the tub which was now absolutely smack-full. Louis knocked back more of his drink and the bathroom started to blur a bit, giving the tiles a soft glow. Louis liked it blurry.

“How did it go with your great-aunt, Harry?” Liam asked.

“Oh, very well. They are really excited about it.”

“Then why did you have to get drunk?” Niall asked bluntly, bringing it to the point as always.

Harry’s eyes widened over the rim of his glass filled with the contents he was chugging back at the moment and quickly lowered the drink, cheeks tinted pink. He stuttered around for a bit, until Zayn finally interrupted and calmly stated, “They talked about your dad, didn’t they?” The other three were all too polite to ask about it but gave each other furtive looks, being transported back to that bubble of hushed scandals and cheap gossip when Liam had first moved in.

“It’s good that I didn’t listen to him, right?” Harry asked Zayn for reassurance. The other three all nipped on their glasses, pretending not to listen (which was of course ridiculous since they were all squished in quite close quarters in a bathtub side by side).

“Of course it is. Look how great it’s going for you,” Zayn provided the reassurance Harry had apparently needed.

Harry started nodding, first tentatively, then stronger. “Why, if I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t have any of this,” he said, throwing his arms wide and nearly knocking the drink from Zayn’s hand.

Louis leaned forward to get a better look at him. “This, as in this party or as in this bathroom?”

“Or as in your weekly crochet gatherings with your aunt and her friends?” Zayn chimed in, sincerely interested.

When he saw Louis trying to hold back his laughter, Harry shot him and then Zayn a dirty look and held up a finger in Louis’ face. “Don’t you say a word, and don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not! See?” Louis frowned, emphasizing his non-laughter. He leaned back and for a few minutes, they sat in silence, listening to the distant music and watching the glowing bathroom tiles.

Eventually, Louis tried climbing out of the tub, slipping a bit on his way out of the knot of limbs and nearly spilled his drink. He turned around to the others with as much dignity as was possible after that drunken display of grace and elegance. “Well, I’m now going to go down there again and look for someone to go home with. Have fun,” he said, wagging a finger in their direction. “Sulking in that tub.”

“Wait,” Niall called and followed him. “I’ll come with ya. Promised that girl that I’d come back.”

“You already forgot her name? Geez, Niall. It’s been like twenty minutes,” Liam said. “But I’ll come with you. There’s this really good-looking guy down there and I would love to start a conversation with him.”

Zayn looked at his drink at those words. Liam twisted around to look at him, completely oblivious to all the ways he had just broken the raven’s heart. “Are you coming, too?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Zayn mumbled. “Later.”

A hurt look appeared on Liam’s face then, and Louis wanted to smack him for his stupidity. “Alright, I’ll see you,” Liam said and then left the bathroom with Niall and Louis, tumbling down the stairs back to the party.

-

“I can’t believe he actually had the audacity to say something like that, when he knows exactly that I- that we. Unbelievable. Un-believable,” Harry ranted after the door had closed behind Louis. “I mean, not that I care of course, he can fuck whatever bloke he wants to, but just saying it like- like.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to ever mention that night again and for him to just treat you like everyone else. Like a friend,” Zayn quietly said, still staring at the liquid in his glass.

“He is not my friend. I could never be friends with anyone that pretentious and sulky and obnoxious and- And he is so overbearing, I can’t stand it. It’s like he can’t bring himself to care about anything, as if he’s too good for all of it.” He raised a finger in the air. “Which he is not.” It was clear that all the thawing out that had happened between them was at an end. “God, how could I have been so stupid?” Harry said, burying his face in his hands.

“Liquid stupidity? The power of your loins?”

“Zayn!”

Zayn stood up and looked down at Harry. “I’m pretty tired. I’m just gonna go to bed.”

Harry reached out his hand. “Zayn… I’m sorry. I should stop complaining. And about Liam-“

“What about him?”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to-“

“He can do whatever he wants. If him being my friend means he’s happy, then that’s alright with me.”

“No, but what about your wooing plan?”

“I think I’ll put that on hold for a little bit. It earned me a new friend and that’s enough for me. Actually, it earned me three new friends. And you maybe as well.”

“Two,” Harry corrected bitterly. “Two for me.”

Without replying, Zayn slowly made his way to the door in that slumping way he had and then he was gone, probably burying himself in a pile of comic books, weed and spray-paint, contemplating life and fate. Harry heaved a heavy sigh and stared at the blurring bathroom around him. What was he doing? He had come here to make sure his life meant something beyond champagne parties, white collars and bright smiles, to explore what else the world had to offer. And what he had found was Louis Tomlinson, the human manifestation of everything he had hoped to find but now wished he never had. He was arrogant, obnoxious, uncouth and worst of all, actually pretty goddamn nice.

And there was something about him… He was real.

He said what he thought without a filter and smoked on fire escapes in big orange hoodies and he didn’t laugh often, but when he did it was sincere. He didn’t laugh just for the sake of it. And Harry hated him. Because Louis Tomlinson was real in that way Harry couldn’t ever seem to be. And because Louis was downstairs right now, looking for someone to go home with, just to then hurt them just like he had hurt Harry.

And the thing he hated most about him was the fact that he didn’t hate him at all.

Harry knocked his head back on the tiled wall behind him, blowing a wayward curl off his forehead that immediately fell into his eyes again. After a while he climbed out of the tub, a little woozy, and made his way down the hallway and the stairs back to the slowly dying party.

The people were dissolving and the music had been turned down to a quiet background sound, a few lights switched on to light the tired and exhausted faces of the lingering guests. Harry’s eyes fell on Niall’s shock of blond hair in the middle of the room, looking like the flame of a burning candle. “Hey, Harold!” Niall called and waved at him with one hand, a girl latching onto the other one. Louis appeared next to Niall, some guy Harry had never seen before next to him.

“Where’s Liam?” Harry asked.

“Oh, he already left," Niall replied.

“So will I now,” Louis chimed in, a drunk lilt to his voice. Harry looked at the guy next to him who didn’t seem to notice anything beyond Louis’ shoulder which he was caressing like a slobbering dog. Harry couldn’t deny that he was attractive, though.

“He’s too tall for you,” Harry hissed under his breath, before he could stop his booze-loosened tongue.

“I bet he can bend,” Louis shot back with a grin. “And he’s not that much taller than you, and that worked just fine if I can recall correctly.” He now slowly started steering the guy in the direction of the door, giving Niall and Harry one last salute. “Have a good night, lads! Curly, have fun with those embroidery designs of yours!”

“Crocheting,” Harry muttered under his breath and gave Louis a small kick in the behind as farewell.

“Do you want to get out of here?” the girl still clinging to Niall’s hand like it was a life-vest asked him with a dreamy expression on her make-up smudged face.

Niall gripped her shoulders and gave her an apologetic smile. “I know this sucks, but I have a flatmate and I don’t want to disturb him. Beauty rest, you know? Trust me, he really needs it.”

The girl waved her hand. “Oh, that’s no problem! We can go to my place. My roommate isn’t there tonight, some funeral. Or was it a wedding? Can’t remember. Anyway. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves,” she shrieked, going in for a hug.

Niall shot Harry a panicked look, and mouthed, “ _Help me_.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry mouthed back and shrugged helplessly.

Niall carefully freed himself from her embrace and slowly said, “Actually, Katie-“

“Kate.”

“Right, Kate. I’m really sorry to break it to you now, I don’t know how to say it, so I’ll just spit it out: I’m gay.”

“What?!” Kate yelled, letting go of Niall’s neck. “We were making out like five minutes ago!”

Niall nervously laughed. “Crazy what can happen in five minutes, right? Phew. Human psyche has always been fascinating to me,” he said, slowly backing away, and turned around. “Oh, Harry Sweetie, I didn’t see you there! Let’s go.” He gave Kate one last wave and smile and then pulled a very confused Harry out of the house and to the lawn in front of it.

“What the hell just happened?” Harry asked, blinking.

“That, my friend, was an escape.”

“But why? She seemed nice. And she was pretty. Wait- Are you actually gay?”

“No, you idiot. That was my excuse. Well, actually, hold on. I take that back. I mean, you never know, do you?”

Harry swayed his head from side to side. “Meh.”

“All I’m gonna say to that is that I enjoy Colin Firth walking out of a lake in a dripping white shirt as much as the next guy does. And I was just too tired to go home with her today.”

“I didn’t think you were a ‘Pride and Prejudice’ kind of guy,” Harry replied, impressed.

“Want to crash at our place tonight?” Niall asked, changing the subject. “Don’t worry, we don’t actually have to have sex like with Louis.”

“Are you sure? That would be great, actually. Not the sex part, I mean. The crashing part. Not that I wouldn't want to have sex with you- but. God, whatever. Point is: I would love to crash at yours tonight. I don’t want to wake up my aunt or break my neck while trying to sneak to my room in the dark while having to avoid piles of cats on the floor.”

“Yeah, ‘course I’m sure.” They walked and talked for a while, the bright streetlamps around them like glowing eyes in the dark, the soft thuds of their soles on the asphalt accommodating their chatter and small laughs, as if not to disturb the night. It was a riddle to Harry how someone as bright and friendly as Niall could be friends with someone like Louis. Probably because Louis was also nice, he thought bitterly. To everyone but to Harry.

When they reached the door to Niall’s apartment, Niall fumbling around for his key, Harry eyed the linoleum floor of the staircase, the sleazy wood of the flat door, and suddenly felt a soft twang of something akin to jealousy. This was real. This wasn’t the elegant ebony wood he had grown up on, not the soft golden railings and floors clean enough to mirror oneself in. This reminded him of home. His true home, that was, not the one he spent most of his childhood at.

“Home sweet home,” Niall chirped, pushing open the door to the flat Harry was already embarrassingly familiar with, and toed off his shoes. Harry took off his boots as well and then followed Niall into the living room where he was sitting on the couch next to a sleeping Liam, the telly dunking them both in a soft blue artificial light.

“Apparently Liam was watching some quiz show when he fell asleep,” Niall deduced and grabbed an abandoned unfinished bowl of cereal from the couch table. Harry sat down next to him and for a while, they sat in comradery silence, watching but also not really watching the program.

Then Niall said quietly, eyes still fixed on the TV, “You know, he’s actually really nice.”

Harry looked at him, surprised. “Who is?” He knew exactly who Niall was referring to.

“Tommo. He’s one of the best people I know, and a true friend. One can say a lot about him, but he’s true in everything he does. And you are also one of the friendliest people I know.” He gave Harry’s hand an affectionate pad. “I’m glad to have met you, Harry.” Harry didn’t know what to reply, so he just gave a quiet smile and then they both turned back to the TV.

Normally, he would ponder Niall’s statement for a while but he could feel exhaustion and the alcohol in his veins start dragging him down, his limbs growing heavy, eyelids falling close until the gentle blue light in the room was gone, replaced by darkness and dreams about bathtubs; champagne; fierce, soft blue eyes amid the velvety atmosphere of a dim room and names whispered in the dark. One name, over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's me! :)
> 
> This chapter was posted earlier than usual, sorry for the inconsistency. Or not sorry. 
> 
> I also just wanted to thank you again for reading and say that it would be great if you could maybe leave a comment or the like, that would mean a lot to me. <3


	7. A World Tainted Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark times for Louis, pink times for Harry.

                                                                                                              _Song(s):_

_"Cigarette Daydreams" - Cage the Elephant_

_"Pallid Eyes" - Emily Jane White_

 

Louis didn’t remember the boy’s name. He could only recall the initial first, hot meeting of clashing tongues and teeth, the sweat coating his skin until drink, pleasure, and exhaustion had set him into oblivion, but not the name. Not that Louis needed that information, anyway.

Slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping boy next to him, Louis crept out of the bed and assembled his clothes from the floor, wincing at every creak of the floorboards and sounds as he zipped up his trousers. He was just about to put on his shoes when the boy turned in his sleep with a groan and Louis froze, pinching his eyes closed, then loosed a quiet sigh of relief when the boy kept sleeping tight as a baby, and tip-toed to the window, shoes in his hand.

He peered through the window and almost pushed a fist in the air at the sight. Ground level: jackpot!

But… One last look over his shoulder told him what he had already suspected: Community college. Located about 8 kilometers from his apartment. Fuck. Now he also remembered the boy excitedly telling him about his major until Louis had had enough of pretending to listen and solved the problem the usual way: with his tongue. That had gotten the boy to stop talking, no doubt about that.

Louis carefully pushed up the window and threw one bare foot over the railing, glancing back at the sleeping boy, and wondered for a split second if this was in the boy’s favor or if maybe he was more like Harry, one of those boys who would prepare breakfast in bed and ask you out on a date. Well, Louis wasn’t one of the latter, so it didn’t matter, did it? He wasn’t. But the prospect of breakfast seemed a very good one at the moment, even though the mere thought of any form of liquor already made him nauseous and a headache throbbed behind his skull.

Slowly, he hoisted himself up, now sitting on the window sill like on a horse and peered down to the ground below. Although the dorm room was luckily located on the ground floor, the dry grass beneath him still seemed terribly far away from this perspective. But it was too late to turn back now. With an ejaculation toward the sky, Louis threw his other leg over the sill as well and then made a Spiderman-like jump for it.

He had anticipated to land on the ground with a cool roll like in spy movies but the reality was much different. He landed on the grass with an unceremonious thud, the impact nearly taking the air out of his lungs, and loosed a series of violent swears.

For one moment he was taken back to the last time he had fallen out of a window and landed on a patch of grass (which was definitely something that shouldn’t happen that frequently to one person) with Harry by his side. The memory of what had happened afterwards let another few weak swears from Louis’ tongue.

Padding the loose pieces of grass from his clothes as if that would miraculously make him look less sleazy or would somehow also make his clothes less rumpled and foetid, his eyes stuck on his feet. His still naked feet. With a dreading look up to the window his assumption was confirmed: he had forgotten his shoes on the window sill which was too highly located to reach from where Louis was standing. He nearly let out a frustrated scream but stopped himself when he remembered not to wake the boy above him. A few angry kicks and beats on the dead grass had to do for now.

It was cold; the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet, only a few streams of sunlight snaking their way through the grey clouds. For a moment he considered the option of going inside the building and knocking on the boy’s door but even the thought made Louis cringe, his entire body tensing with dread. From the looks of it he would just have to go home barefoot. Doing his walk of shame not only looking a maniac but also like a hungover Jesus, sans the luscious long hair of course. Where was Harry Styles to hoist one up in the air when you needed him?!

An idea popped into his head and he fished his phone from the pocket of his jeans, intending to call Niall, but then saw it was dead. Of course it was.

After another few desperate hits on the grass, he finally scrambled to his shoeless feet and ordered his strained and tired muscle to move down the street toward the bus stop. (But not without a few futile attempts at jumping in the air and trying to grab his shoes from the sill which only made his brain feel even more like scrambled eggs and his muscles like tightrobe.)

The street was abandoned, safe for an old man in mismatching clothes and giant boots sitting at the bus stop, puffing on a cigar. “The bus doesn’t drive today,” he croaked with an askew grin.

Louis didn’t ask what the man was doing at the bus stop then. “Are you sure?” he said, trying not to sound too desperate. If the bus didn’t drive today that meant he would have to walk the seven kilometres in the dry morning air, without any shoes (!!!).

“I’ve never been so sure of anythin’ in my life, kiddo. You could wait three hours, though. That’s when the next one comes.

Louis eyed the empty street, the dirty bus stop and the even dirtier man giving him a toothless smile. “Okay, thank you. I guess I’ll have to walk then.”

The man nodded approvingly. “Walkin’s good. It ain’t nobody who’s ever got killed by walkin’.”

Louis sucked on a tooth, pondering the man’s strange accent, then decided to stop procrastinating and started his trek down the street, dirt collecting between his toes and on the soles of his feet. He desperately needed a smoke, but the pack of cigarettes had somehow vanished from his pocket, maybe during his gallant drop from the window. Maybe this was a new low-point for Louis Tomlinson, and he had had many. No. He knew exactly what his true low-point had been.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket but that didn’t do much against the cold wind brushing past given that the jacket was thin and full of holes. A few cars whizzed past him from time to time, seeming to mock him and his slow progress. Louis flipped a few of them off while marching on.

The worst thing about his involuntary tramp were undisputedly the thoughts. There was nothing better to do than reflect about himself and his miserable life, all the wrong choices and ill twists of cruel fate. About his lost shoes that were now standing lonely on the windowsill of some dorm room and would be found soon by an unknowing boy like some alternative Cinderella tale.

Hopefully that boy wouldn’t think the same thing and try to find Louis to give him back his shoes, sure that he was his soulmate and fairytale lover. That’s probably what Harry would do. Or, more likely, he would leave his own shoes behind on purpose, a trail to be found by his prince. The thought made Louis lightly chuckle to himself, shaking his head. It was only a very short chuckle and immediately repressed by a cough and pinching of the lips. Back to staring at his steadily dirtier-getting feet and miserable thoughts.

The sun slowly rose higher and higher, not actually making Louis any warmer but rather drowning the surroundings in a cold yellow colour and making more and more people leave their houses to pass Louis and give him pitying or judging looks.

Finally, _finally_ , he reached his street and quickly jogged the last few steps to the door, already fumbling for the keys in his pockets.

“Wow, what happened to you? You look pretty today. Rough night?” a voice next to him asked with a chuckle and Louis turned his head to see Calvin leaning next to the backdoor of the pub, smoking a cigarette.

“Ha ha,” Louis replied, rolling his eyes. “Rough year, more like.”

Stan grinned and then nodded in agreement, mouth forming an upside-down u.

“Now please gimme that,” Louis said, already reaching for the cigarette. Calvin handed it to him and lit himself a new one. Louis took it and dragged on it as if the cigarette was his first drop of water in the desert or as if he was drowning and now finally got up for air, taking it deep into his lungs. No wonder he was so out of breath from his little promenade; he guessed that’s what happened when nicotine became more important than edibles and one’s lung was probably already as black and shriveled as the rest of his existence and soul.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, blowing the smoke into the air toward the dirtily yellow sun. “I will forever be in your debt.”

“You can take my shift at the pub tonight,” Calvin suggested.

Louis shot him a glare. “I didn’t mean it that literally.”

“But _I_ did,” Calvin grinned.

“Fuck you, man. But fine. I’ll do it, because honestly, I could kiss you right now. If my tongue didn’t feel like a dead animal, that is.” He shortly paused, taking another drag, then said, apologetically, “Actually, I can’t today. I’ll take your shift on Friday, though.”

“Is it because of that theatre group? The whole town’s talkin’ about it.”

“Talking about what exactly?” Louis said suspiciously. “They never used to give shit about the theatre.”

“They do since you’re in it. And since it’s an original script.”

“How do they even know that?” Louis asked, feeling his mood sink even more if that was even possible.

“Mrs. Proctor has quite a love for gossip and telling stories; they all do.”

“Should have thought of that.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground, but then remembered he wasn’t wearing any shoes, so Calvin ground it out with his clad feet. “Thanks,” Louis said. “I’d better get up there now. Thanks again for saving my life just now.”

“Anytime, Lou. Anytime.”

With a short smile, Louis finally opened the door and then climbed the stairs to his flat. The corridor was quiet, shoes and clothes clustered on the floor despite Liam’s attempts at cleaning up after them (‘them’ meaning mostly Louis).

He stumbled into the living room, ready to start his rant when suddenly, he noted that there were not two, but three sleeping figures on the couch. That wasn’t right. Slowly, he rounded the corner of the couch and looked at the boys on the cushions. One head of blonde hair, one with neatly cut and styled brown hair, and one head full of tousled long curls. Apparently, Niall had invited Harry over to stay with them for the night.

A beam of sunlight slipped through a broken slat in the shutter and glanced across his eyelashes, dusting them with light. He was curled into an almost fetal position, long legs pulled to his chest, arms hugging his stomach, pink lips slack and relaxed. It was a peaceful, a quiet and innocent kind of sight. Louis definitely stared longer than he should have. Maybe he could let them sleep for a bit longer. He wasn’t that cruel. Well, maybe he had been the last time Harry had slept in this flat.

At that thought, he quickly turned around and marched into the bathroom to finally follow the urge that had been building itself inside of him for the entirety of the walk. He hadn’t even drunk anything today yet! Maybe the alcohol from the night before… His eyes caught on his own face reflected in the bathroom mirror and he nearly jumped at the sight. His hair was a rat’s nest and his eyes bloodshot, the rings under his eyes nearly the same color blue as his eyes.

Splashing a bit of ice-cold water on his face didn’t make it look much better. He sighed at himself, then turned around when the door suddenly opened and Liam’s head poked in, his hair more disheveled than usual but in comparison to the scrub on Louis’ head photoshoot-worthy.

Louis held up a finger. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed.

Liam didn’t but bit his lips to hold back laughter. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

“So, how was it?” Liam asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“Can’t remember,” Louis said offhandedly.

“Better than Harry?”

Louis gave him an incredulous look, his eyes nearly producing sparks. “No comment.”

Liam grabbed a tube of shampoo and threw it from one hand to other, simultaneously tapping his foot on the bathroom tiles, eyes darting around the small room.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Liam said innocently.

Louis tried smoothing out his hair a bit but the attempt only made it look even more like a bird had been nesting in it so he gave up on it with a frustrated sigh.

“Well, actually, I was wondering...,” Liam stuttered. A smile started playing on his lips and his fidgeting hands eased until they lay limply in his lap. “Do you think… that maybe… Zayn likes me?” He looked up at Louis, a hopeful sparkle in his brown eyes.

Louis nearly laughed out loud at Liam’s obliviousness. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, turning back to the ghost in the mirror. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Are you crazy?” Liam said, jumping to his feet. “I can’t ask him that! I guess I’ll just wait and look for signs.”

Oh no. That would mean a mutual unknowing pining on both sides for all of eternity. “Well, do you like _him_?” Louis asked.

Liam bit his lip with another tiny smile straight out of a forth-grade romance. “I don’t know. I mean, I think so. He’s really cool. And he said he loves Batman, and… and the canvas’s he painted for the play are really spectacular, aren’t they?”

“They’re pretty cool, yeah,” Louis agreed. “Maybe you should ask him out on a date.”

“No!” Liam said, mortified.

“You didn’t strike me as someone who’s scared to ask a person out.”

“Usually I’m not, but… Zayn is really cool and we’re friends, you know? I don’t want to destroy that in case he doesn’t like me.”

“Risks have to be taken in life. Besides, I don’t think that’s the case.”

Liam stared at the air for a few seconds, then he said, “Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it… I guess… I don’t know.”

There was silence for a few seconds, Liam staring absently at the floor, Louis staring absently at his own reflection when suddenly, the door opened again and this time, a sleepy looking Harry Styles stumbled inside. His eyes widened when he took in the other two standing before him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he stuttered, his eyes darting from Louis’ sleazy demeanor to Liam’s polite smile. “I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Louis had the instinct to make a run for it and bury himself, his dirty feet and the shadows under his eyes under a pile of leaves. Somewhere Harry couldn’t see him like this. Not that he cared. He didn’t. He did not.

Harry looked at him with a crease between his brows, looking almost… concerned, maybe. “You look tired. Are you alright?” His voice was offhand yet still kind and sounded like he genuinely… cared. After all Louis had said to him, after the way he had treated him that night and all the other times after.

Maybe it was that concern that made Louis raise an alluding eyebrow with a roguish smile and say, “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Harry faltered like a wilting flower and nodded bitterly as if he had expected a response like this from Louis but had still hoped against all odds to be surprised. There was a bitter taste in Louis’ mouth that hadn’t been there before, at least not that strongly.

In that moment, Niall appeared behind Harry, laughing as he took in Louis’ demeanor. “And what happened to you?” he asked with a grin. His eyes drifted down to Louis’ feet. “And your shoes.”

“I had to make a daring escape and there were casualties.”

“I understand. Nice to see you again in one piece. Well, most of you.”

Harry cleared his throat and took a small step inside the room. “I should get going now, a lot to do...,” he stuttered, nearly knocking over a small storage rack on his way out. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

“Alright, bud,” Niall replied and gave him a short hug. “See you there.” Harry returned the smile but when his eyes met Louis’ across the small room it slipped off his face. Louis looked at the floor, somehow ashamed.

After they had heard the soft thud of the door signaling that Harry had left, Niall clapped his hands and said, “Anyone hungry?”

Five minutes later, they were all sitting at the small messy kitchen table, an assortment of fridge leftovers spread out before them. “Look at us, being all proper flat mates,” Niall said cheerily and bit into a piece of probably-expired toast.

Louis didn’t listen to the conversation that followed, his thoughts far away. Looking up from the milky depths of his cereal bowl, he said, “I want to try to be nicer from now on.”

There was one second of silence then Liam and Niall started laughing. Louis shot them a hard glare and Niall patted his hand. “You already are, Tommo.”

“Harry might disagree with you on that.”

“What brought this sudden change of mind and person upon you, Lou?”

Louis shoveled another spoon full of sickingly sweet delicious cereal into his mouth. “I guess having to trek across the entire fucking country soft of makes one rethink the decisions leading up to that point.”

“It’s seven kilometres to the community college.”

“Well, it felt like a few continents.”

“I mean, we’re both totally for this decision to get your life back together-“

“I never said anything about getting my life back together. It’s already together. I love my life.”

Liam snorted into his orange juice, earning him a shoulder-shove from Louis.

“Why didn’t you like Harry to begin with?” Niall interrupted.

“Because I don’t like anyone.”

“You liked me. Didn’t you?” Liam chimed in.

“That’s because I had to. I live with you. And you didn’t force me to join a stupid theatre group or annoy me that much.”

“That’s not true. You were very annoyed by me. Still are.”

Louis slammed his now empty cereal bowl back onto the table, a few damp leftover fruit loops jumping on the wood next to it. Niall picked them up and ate them. “He didn’t force you to do anything. You agreed to do it so you could get into his pants.”

Louis raised a finger, then lowered it again. “That’s not what happened. At least, not exactly like that. Look, Harry Styles is an annoying, self-entitled brat who has never done an ounce of work in his life and thinks he can do anything he wants just because his family is rich and- and… And he’s confusing and I don’t get him.”

“Wow, those are great points, Lou. And a really good foundation for a friendship.”

“Fuck of,” Louis said which usually meant he had lost an argument.

“Harry is great and you should know that people can’t do anything against where they come from or who their parents are. You of all people should know that, Tommo. You’ve seen ‘Grease’ about twenty thousand times.”

“Mate, that’s not what that movie is about.”

“Do whatever you want, just please don’t do anything stupid. Like sleeping with him. Or breaking his heart. Wait, that sounds familiar… Ah, yes! You’ve already done that. Don’t do it again. Actually, don’t do anything. I don’t trust you not to fuck things up.”

“Thank you very much for your confidence in me.” He looked at Niall, then at Liam. “Fine! I won’t do anything stupid. Or at least, I’ll try. I can’t guarantee for anything with that boy.”

“Or with yourself,” Niall said with a meaningful raise of an eyebrow, sipping on a cup of tea.

“Give that back,” Louis said snippily, snagging the cup from Niall’s hand. “That’s mine.”

“Why don’t you just admit that you don’t like Harry because he challenges you?”

“He does not. He unsettles me.” He emptied the cup of tea. “Whatever. I think we’re done with this conversation. ‘Harry Styles’ is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast. Can’t be good for the digestion.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“No, I wasn’t! Well… Whatever. I’m done with him. And with you,” he added, pointing a finger at his flat mates. “And with this world. God, I’m hungover.”

“Get some rest, bud,” Niall called behind him, Louis already stomping down the corridor. “Tell us if we can get you anything.”

Louis was suddenly struck by a thought and turned on his heel, stalking back to the kitchen. “Wait,” he said, standing in the doorframe. “You don’t think I can become friends with Harry Styles.”

Niall and Liam looked at each other, their chewing slowing. “I think you can be a bit difficult to deal with sometimes,” Liam said cautiously. “And you’ve proven that to Harry one too many times.”

Niall nodded his agreement. “Harry has tried being nice to you many times.”

“No, he hasn’t!” Louis protested. “He was being absolutely annoying. So, you really don’t think I can make friends with him. Well, joke’s on you.” Swiftly, he sat back down on his chair. “You think I’m socially incompetent? You think I can’t be kind?”

“Actually, we don’t think either of those things,” Niall chimed in, but Louis silenced him with a flick of the hand.

“I will prove it to you. I bet I can make friends with Harry until Christmas.”

“Fine,” Niall said, bracing his arms atop the table with a resigned look.

“If he gives me a present for my birthday, I win.”

“Harry gives everyone presents, even if it isn’t their birthday,” Niall gave into consideration. “He would even give his arch nemesis flowers for their grandma’s eightieth birthday party without being asked to do it.”

Louis lowered his eyes to the black tea leaves in the cup for a second at those words, feeling something small roiling in his stomach, but pushed it away. “Let’s say if he visits you on your birthday without anyone inviting him,” Liam proposed and Louis quickly nodded.

“Fine. You just watch me. I can be quite charming if I want to.”

Niall heaved a heavy sigh. “Trust me, Lou, we already know, but if you need to prove it to yourself, then fine."

“Fine,” Louis gave back, getting up from the chair again. “I will.” With that, he left the kitchen and finally went into his room, throwing himself on the bed.

He had expected sleep to cease him almost immediately, but he lay awake for a long time, trying desperately not to care.

-

“Harold, we still need the rest of those costumes. Are you on it?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I’m on it.”

James marched ahead, pointing at people and telling them instructions. “Zayn, are you already on the final canvas?”

Zayn hurried from backstage, dragging a large piece of spray-painted linen behind him. “I’ve finished it.”

James stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the slightly sweaty Zayn before him. “Wait, really? Wow. That was fast. Amazing!”

Zayn smiled shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose, the top hat on his hair slightly lopsided as usual. “Then we can finish the stage setting today,” James announced, beaming as usual. The others rolled their eyes at the task ahead, as usual. Harry smiled at them, happy to be there, as usual.

James raised an arm to get everyone’s attention. “Please set up the beach stage for today. We’ll rehearse the Lost boy’s performance today.

Everyone got to work, carrying fake trees and large pieces of silk from backstage to the auditorium. Harry also walked backstage to help the others with the carrying. Louis was struggling with a sculpture tree, nearly being buried alive underneath it. “Hey, Curly,” he panted, legs pushing against a large heavy box to stop them from skidding over the floor, letting the tree fall on top of him.

He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him, his hair as smooth and soft-looking as before, shoes on his feet and no patches of dead grass sticking to any rumpled clothes. The blue shadows under his eyes were still of a faint purple, though. Harry didn’t care. Not after the way Louis had treated him at their last encounter (and all the other times before that). So he ignored Louis’ desperate fight with the fake tree and instead stalked over to a box filled with light silk, collecting a few of them to take to the main stage.

“Curly! Hey,” Louis called behind Harry’s back. “How was your week? Nice? Good. Miserable weather, though. It’s supposed to snow in-“

Harry whirled around to him, suddenly seeing red. “What?!” he snapped.

Louis seemed a little taken a back for the length of a short heartbeat, then that cocky, brash, impertinent expression was back on his face, and he said, “What? I was simply making nice small-talk with a college and friend. Just trying to be nice, Curly. No need to get all snippy about it.”

Harry sighed, putting the fabric onto the surface of a dresser nearby. “Why do you call me that?” he asked, annoyed.

“Call you what?”

Harry tilted his head to the side and gave him a _you-know-exactly-what-I-mean_ look. “Curly.”

“Have you ever looked inside a mirror? As far as I’m concerned, you have a head full of curls there, hence the name.”

“But you could just call me Harry, you know?”

“You’re so boring, Curly!” Louis gave back with an annoyed sigh. “Where’s the fun in that? From now on, I would like to be called King Louis the fourth, for example. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Ice cube! Get you your bony arse over here and help me with this fucking tree.”

Mitch, who had been addressed with the nickname, slowly made his way over to Louis with as much enthusiasm as a sleeping sloth, a glass of red wine in his hand. Before he could reach Louis, Greg was by his side, though, taking the weight of the (not very weighty) tree off Louis’ backside. Niall passed the two and mockingly padded Louis on the back. “I see it’s going great with your plan.”

“Fuck off. I was kind as could be.”

Harry didn’t know what this exchange had been about, so he just grabbed the blue silk from the dresser and stalked back to the main stage, leaving King Louis the forth and Greg on their own with the tree.

-

The next few weeks, Harry spent reading old poetry books from a tiny book store around the corner, watching the same ten classic Rom-Coms on repeat, and observing as the trees lost their fiery colors and leaves started elegantly drifting to the ground, all to the background sound of rain splattering against his windows.

On the warmer days, one last final goodbye gift from summer, Harry walked Nick’s dogs with him. Those were the best days. Nick was funny and always teasing him. He reminded Harry of Louis in that way, only that Harry didn’t like it when Louis teased him; or at least that’s what he told himself again and again before rehearsal.

Louis really made a great Peter Pan. Not only because of his undisputable talent, but also because of the way he carried himself through life; because of the wickedness and mischief seeming to glimmer in his eyes and the way he laughed. It reminded Harry of sunlight glittering through a spider-web, that laugh, promising adventures in all sorts of forms.

But Harry didn’t think about that often.

Never, actually. He really had better things to do than think about Louis Tomlinson’s laugh or any sorts of adventures with him.

Really.

-

Louis watched the red glimmer at the tip of the cigarette slowly creep down the paper, savoring this by now rare day of tickling sunlight and a gentle grey sky. He was sitting on his usual spot on the wall, having finished his shift at the café, when a he saw a familiar frame slowly round the corner on a light blue bike.

When Harry spotted him sitting on the brick wall, he only petalled a little faster, ignoring him. “It’s also nice to see you, Curly,” Louis said with a smile and stubbed out the cigarette on the brick beside him.

Harry finally looked at him; huge, obnoxiously pink sunglasses obscuring his eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out a foot and stopped the bike. The glasses were the same color as his lips.

“I like the glasses,” Louis said, leaning forward a bit.

“Is that sarcastic?”

“No, it’s not.” He really was being sincere. These glasses were just so- so Harry. Everything about them screamed his name, from the unwontedness of them to the fact that they were so so pink.

Harry eyed him suspiciously from behind the pink obscurity. “Thanks. You’re pink right now. It’s better than your usual dark self.”

“Oh, is it now?” Louis asked with a raise of the eyebrows.

“Everything looks better in pink.”

Before he could stop himself, Louis quietly started humming to himself. Aerosmith. _Pink, it’s my new obsession. Yeah, pink it’s not even a question._ Harry seemed to pick up on the song and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as he joined Louis’ quiet singing. “ _Pink on the lips of your lover, cause Pink is the love you discovah._ ”

Louis couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his face, just barely, but it was there. For a moment, they looked at each other across the space between them as their laughter slowly stopped and they both cleared their throats and looked away.

“So, where are you headed on your lovely little bike?” Louis asked, leaning back slightly, arms gripping the stone behind him.

“I’m looking for the rest of the costumes for Peter Pan. As you know, we still need a real costume for Peter… so, you.”

“So, me.”

“And also for Sarah and Clare. And a few other things.”

“Well, have fun,” Louis said and hopped off the small wall, starting to make his way home.

Harry was about to start pedaling again, feet already draped on the pedal, when he turned around to Louis who still lingered, leaning against the brick. “Do you want to come with me?” The question seemed to surprise him as much as Louis and for a second they just stared at each other. “Forget it,” Harry said, shaking his head, and took off down the cobbled street.

Louis stared at his back, the muscles shifting beneath the white fabric of his shirt- a surprisingly simple garment for one Harry Styles. He thought of the short moment of quiet laugher they had just shared and then of the dim empty apartment awaiting him, and before he knew it, he called down the street, “Am I supposed to run after you or what? Because I can’t do that. Smoking does that to your lungs, you know?”

The bike stopped and Harry turned around, a tiny tiny smile playing on his lips. “Well then hop on.”

Louis blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Harry smirked. One of those goddamn lopsided grins that drove Louis mad. Those pink glasses and yellow grandma shoes he was wearing were the only flecks of color in an otherwise rainy grey street, dim sunlight trying to glint through the wall of clouds in the sky and failing. Well, maybe it wasn’t needed. Not when Harry’s shoes were so bright.

“I mean, you could walk, but as you said, I don’t think all those cigarettes will make it easy for you. And where’s the fun in that?”

Louis crossed the asphalt until he stood beside Harry and his bike. “No fucking way.”

Again that fucking smirk. “I think I’ve heard that from you before. And look where we are today, going shopping for your costume in a play you would ‘no fucking way’ join.”

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

“Come on. I promise I won’t let you fall. That would mean I fall too and that’s something I don’t want to happen. Otherwise this would be a different story.”

“Did you just imply you would push me off a bike?” Louis grinned and opened his mouth in shock.

“Absolutely,” Harry replied smugly and then laughter bubbled up from his chest, those dimples marking his cheeks. He really did make it seem easy.

“Okay, fine,” Louis sighed. “But don’t you dare ever tell anyone about this.” With that, he reluctantly threw a leg over the rusty, old carrier of Harry’s bike. “How old is this vehicle?” Louis asked anxiously. “Because it certainly looks old and like it could fall apart any second, especially with two grown men sitting on it.”

“I wouldn’t say two fully grown men,” Harry gave back and then laughed a tiny bit as Louis flipped him off. “Just do it,” he said solemnly. “I also climbed that bathroom wall for you.”

“Hey. That was for both of us. I didn’t want to spend that night in a public bathroom.”

Harry luckily didn’t say anything to the implication in Louis’ words that hadn’t been meant to come out of his mouth. What the fuck was he even doing here? What the fuck was his leg doing, lifting itself off the ground and over the iron carrier? And what were his hands doing, gripping the pole under the saddle, so tightly his knuckles turned white?

“Where are we even going?” he asked, shuffling a bit on the uncomfortable bars.

“You’ll see,” was Harry’s only reply as he steadied the bike and then pushed them off the asphalt, taking off down the uneven street. At first, the bike lurched a bit with the added weight, but Harry managed to take control of the handle bar and their glide became smoother. Louis really had no idea what the fuck he was doing. He had to slightly lift his feet so they wouldn’t scrape across the asphalt and the laces of his shoes wouldn’t get caught in the spokes.

Harry started pedaling faster, the cool gusts of wind ruffling their hair, tinging Louis’ cheeks pink and making his thoughts drift away like a pile of scattered leaves. The street sloped down a cobbled hill and the bike picked up pace, making Louis jump up and down in his seat.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” he asked when he saw Harry letting go of the handlebar, spreading his arms like he was on the fucking Titanic. Harry seemed to think the same as he quietly chuckled, the sound being carried away by the wind. Louis couldn’t see his face, but he just knew that annoying smirk was firmly in place, that dimple engraved deeply into his cheek.

Louis’ nose nearly touched Harry’s back and he quickly leaned back a bit. “Let me guess,” Louis yelled over the whining of the wind. “You’re the king of the world?”

“Yes, I am!” Harry yelled over his shoulder, curls tangled by the wind.

Reluctantly, and very very carefully, Louis also raised his arms, and before he knew it, his head was tipped back, his eyes closed as the wind filled his ears and everything else beyond its sound and feeling on his skin was gone. No more stupid, unwanted thoughts. No more fuck-ups and drunken nights and grim miserable aches in his chest. Nothing there at all. There was a loud cheer carrying over the wind. Wait, was that him? It was. And now Harry had joined his cheering as they whizzed past shop windows and doors.

There was a sudden, unexpectant bump that had Louis scrambling for halt as he nearly fell off the carrier, his bum hurting like hell at the impact. His eyes wide open in shock, he saw what his hands had chosen to hold on to to steady him. Harry. The soft spot of his hips, just above his jeans. Quickly, he let go of them and clamped his fingers around the saddle again, hoping Harry hadn’t noticed.

The bump in the road had been Harry driving off the pavement onto the street. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied. Louis could practically _hear_ that smirk in his voice. “It’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”

Louis gave Harry’s back a light smack. “Not like you didn’t deserve that.”

“Ouch! For what?!”

“For… For… For being annoying!”

“I’m Tinkerbell. I have to be annoying. All part of the character. Have you ever heard of method acting?”

“Too exhausting if you ask me. And not true at all.”

“We’re here,” Harry suddenly announced and halted the bike in front of a tiny-looking store; the shop window was filled with old display dummies and colors. So many colors. Cloth varying from silk to velvet to linen in colors varying from ruby-red to pineapple-yellow to the blackness of gaps between stars. And of course, there was also glitter. And sequin. A very generous amount of it.

“A second-hand store? Really?” Louis asked, still perched on the carrier.

“It’s a thrift store. What did you think we get all those costumes from? I’ve been trying out every thrift or second-hand store I could possibly reach the last few months. This is the last one, so let’s hope we find something good. Well, at least we still have that glitter leaf shirt to fall back on, just in case.”

“Dear god. Please, no.” Harry glanced at him and it struck Louis that Harry might enjoy wickedness just as much as he did. Just as much as Tink shared Peter’s love for adventure. At least in his version.

Harry slowly pushed those pink glasses up into his hair, regarded the street, and said, “I preferred the world in pink.”

“I bet you did,” Louis replied and slowly lifted his aching legs to get off that horror-vehicle. That... thing that had been there while they had been racing down the hill; that something in the air and the wind in their hair, was gone now. The spell broken just like the bones in Louis’ behind might be.

“Fuck, I’m never getting on this thing again,” Louis said, rubbing his aching bum. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk again.”

Harry got off the bike and leaned it against a street lamp, then opened the door to the small store, a bell ringing above his head. Louis gave his injured bum another affectionate pat and then reluctantly followed Harry into the store, being greeted with an overwhelming smell of too much perfume, mothballs, dust, and something akin to death. Oldness, probably. Very old.

There were piles and mountains of clothes and fabric scattered all over the floor, the wooden tables groaning with the weight atop them. Harry had already snagged a black hat from one of the tables, a red-and-gold shawl delicately draped across his shoulders.

Louis stared at him for a second as Harry flutteringly made his way through the labyrinth of garments, an occasional shriek of excitement erupting from his throat when he saw something he liked. Louis opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and with a heavy sigh resigned himself to following him through the store. This was not what he had expected his day to be like.

Veering his way through the tables, trying not to knock over any piles, he watched as Harry grabbed seemingly random stuff from the tables and hangers, when suddenly, he turned around to Louis with a bright grin. The hat still sat on his head, making him look like some rich and famous heartthrob. Which he was, come to think if it. “Tomlinson?” Harry said. The tone in his voice made Louis narrow his eyes, expecting bad things.

“Permission to call me Louis granted.”

Harry had his hands behind his back, excitedly biting his pink bottom lip. “I think I found the perfect thing for you.”

“No, thanks,” Louis said, grabbing a huge, pink knitted hat with a ginormous bobble from a table nearby, and put it over his head, taking a few steps toward the boy before him. The store was very quiet, dust particles dancing in the air everywhere around them. “Look. Now we match.”

That dimple popped out, just slightly, as Harry once again pushed his pink glasses into his hair, revealing those murky, mysterious grey-green eyes that always seemed to change color depending on the weather, or the moon cycle or some shit like that.

“What did you want to show me?” Louis gave in with a sigh after a few heartbeats of silence and Harry’s eyes lit as he revealed the object behind his back.

“That’s a joke, right?” Louis asked, knowing exactly it wasn’t. The dimple deepened as Harry held up the suspenders in his hand to Louis’ face. “I’ll look like a grandpa,” Louis complained. “Or a tramp.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll look like a child. A child that never grows up.” Louis hauled a green velvet shawl with fringes at Harry who merely caught it and grinned as he wrapped the velvet around his head, making him look like an eccentric fortuneteller.

“Fine,” Louis snapped and reluctantly put the suspenders on, then scowled as Harry erupted in laughter.

“It’s great!” Harry said, looking Louis up and down.

“No, it’s not! There’s no chance you’ll get me to wear this.”

“Okay, fine,” Harry gave in with an eyeroll, grinning. “Then help me look for something else for Peter.”

For the next half hour, they both wandered through the store, picking up clothes here and there. Harry found something “perfect” for Tiger Lily and a few pieces here and there for the Lost Boys, and a lot for himself. Louis found goggles in a small bowl of mostly broken accessories and put them on, feeling like a loony inventor or mad scientist.

There was a short tap on his shoulder then, and he turned around to Harry, that green velvet shawl still bound around his head, the fringes brushing the lashes of his eyes. “I think you’ll like these,” Harry said and held up a shirt and a pair of trousers.

Louis was already dreading the pieces of clothing, expecting them to be as bad as his old costumes, but what Harry showed him wasn’t even half bad. Louis took the dark green shirt from him and carefully ran his hand along the fabric. It was simple; there were no fake leaves or glitter sequins, only dark green color and two cords hanging off the low collar. The brown trousers were short, only reaching Louis’ knee and made of leather; there was something boyish about them, perfect for days spent on the beach fighting pirates.

“See? Told you’d like them.”

“Do you have everything, then?” Louis asked, looking up from his new costume.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry replied, taking the green shawl from his head, but Louis saw the longing look he gave the piece of clothing as he put it back on a table nearby and reverently touched the material; trailed the faint red flowers stitched into the velvet with his fingers.

A man appeared behind the counter, giving them a broad smile. “Are you ready to pay?” he asked.

Harry averted his eyes from the shawl and conjured a bright smile on his face, nodding. Harry Styles really had a talent for showing emotions he didn’t feel; for putting on a very convincing mask. Why a boy with a life as untroubled as Harry’s would have needed to learn how to build such a swift and convincing false front of happiness was beyond Louis. Why he didn’t just buy the shawl also was beyond him.

Harry walked over to the counter and payed the man for the costumes and things he had picked out for himself (black-and-white checkered chessboard trousers, a silver rose ring and a few shirts), Louis took off the suspenders and carefully placed them back on a table nearby.

“I’m sorry to ask,” the man said while folding the commodities, “But are you here because of that play? Are these the costumes?”

Harry politely replied, “Yes, they are. A great store you have here, by the way.” Always polite, always glossy, always flippant, always okay.

“We are all very excited to see the play.” The store owner leaned slightly to the left to look at Louis still standing at the back of the room. “Especially with someone like you on board. The entire town can’t wait. My wife will be through the roof when I tell her you showed up here and bought something.”

Louis joined Harry at the counter, their arms brushing just barely. Harry handed the store owner the money while he put the clothes in brown paper bags. “We’ll make sure you and your wife get seats in the first row,” Harry promised as the old man handed him the bags.

“Oh, that would be lovely! We haven’t been to the theatre in so long, my wife and I.”

Harry’s dimple popped out again as he looked at Louis. “What?” Louis said.

“Are you planning on keeping that on?” Harry smirked. “So you don’t get cold ears on the way back? I guess it could be quite useful for that.”

“What are you even talking- Oh.” Louis hadn’t realized that he was still wearing the large pink hat and quickly took it off, the air in the room now feeling foreign on his ears. Quickly, he placed it back on one of the tables and they thanked the man behind the counter, leaving the muggy store, bell ringing above their heads.

Outside, the streetlamps winked on, trying to battle against the gentle grey of the early evening. A few snowflakes swirled in the blustery air. The first snow of the season. Louis lifted a hand and watched as one of them landed on his palm, vanishing almost instantly on his skin, a tiny grey phantom.

“No pressure, right?” Harry said as he mounted the bike, letting the shopping bags dangle from the wheel.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, reluctantly getting on the carrier and closing his aching fingers around the bars.

“That man said he’s looking forward to seeing our play. That everyone is. No pressure.”

Louis chuckled a little. “Curly, are you afraid?”

“No! No, I’m not! I just- I mean. That’s… that’s quite a lot of people watching you and- and what if they hate it? What if they hate me? What if I’m bad?” He set the bike into motion, pedaling slowly, the light from the streetlamps around them getting caught in his hair, painting his back golden. Louis looked at it; at his back; at the broad set of shoulders; at the slender, pale neck in front of him.

“That’s okay,” he said, so quietly he wasn’t even sure if Harry heard it or if the wind hadn’t stolen the words and carried them away through the street. “It’s normal. You have no idea how nervous I was before my first performance. I nearly lost consciousness when I looked over the audience before the show. But at some point, they stop being judgement and criticism and just become an audience.”

He saw Harry’s back tense slightly, the only thing telling Louis he heard him. “Did you ever stop getting nervous?”

“Never. But I learned to love it. The tension and excitement hanging in the air; the fear coiling in your stomach. You learn to love it. And you become addicted to it.” Which made it all the harder to suddenly be taken away from it. From that feeling. Louis cleared his throat and stared at the grey asphalt whizzing past beneath his feet.

“You shouldn’t be nervous, though. They all love you. You could lie on the stage and eat chocolate cookies for an hour and they would still think it was the best performance they have ever seen.” It was true. Everyone loved Harry. Everyone was enchanted and enhanced by his smile, everyone ate from his hand like lap dogs. And yet no one- No one seemed to know him. Actually know him. Yet Harry had the ability to conjure up fake smiles like white bunnies out of a hat.

“And you’re good,” Louis continued. “You really are talented.” Harry didn’t reply and Louis couldn’t see his face to know what he was feeling. As if that would actually change anything.

After a while, when Louis had already half-forgotten about his words and wasn’t expecting a reply anymore, it came anyway. “Thank you.” That was all. It was enough.

They reached Louis’ street and Harry halted the bike so Louis could climb off. “I might sue you for bodily harm, by the way,” Louis said, standing in front of the house entrance. “You and your bike.”

Harry looked at him, the glasses back on his nose even though it was already fairly dark. A spot of pink in a black and grey world around him. “Alright. Then I’ll sue your ass right back.”

“For what?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You do that.” They looked at each other one moment longer, weak snowflakes falling and fading between them. Louis turned around and unlocked the entrance door, then gave Harry a little wave. Harry waved back. “I’ll see you.”

Louis closed the door, listening to the lock falling into place and made his way up the stairs and into his apartment. There, he looked out the window, just in time to see a boy with a pale blue bike and bright pink glasses turning smaller and smaller as he rolled down the street, and then vanished as he rounded the corner, leaving only blistering air and a cool night behind.

Louis didn’t know what to think. So he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :)
> 
> Another thank you for reading, sorry! <3 Hope you like it so far...


	8. The Way We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About cake, ice-cream, and snowflakes.

_Song(s):_

_"Dust to Dust" - The Civil Wars_

 

 

The days dwindled past in cold, harsh winds and songs sung in an empty theatre; in cigarette smoke mingling with Louis’ plumy breaths in the air, late shifts at the pub and early shifts in the café. Rehearsals were dragging but steady, and the play solidified into something better than Louis had first anticipated. Mitch had been right: What these people lacked in talent or experience, they made up for in joy and passion. Especially the swarm of old ladies that were now with them and always brought cookies and tea to rehearsals, much to the joy of everyone (except Eleanor, who was dieting).

Harry and Clare had finished up Louis’ costume, giving it the last bits of mending and touching up it needed. Well, maybe it could use some last adjustments, given that Louis’ left nipple kept slipping out which was very much distracting him from essential bits of the play, like acting. Or singing. Or moving.

Annoyed, Louis once more covered up his nipple and then looked up to see Greg staring at him expectantly with one eye, the other one covered by a patch. “Oh, is it my turn?” Louis asked.

“Aye,” Greg replied, nodding.

“Okay, well… I-“ He raised his small wooden sword, then dropped the hand again and turned to the audience area. “I’m sorry. Line?”

Harry, sitting cross-legged in the first row, gave back, “I’m not your prompter”, but the edges of his teasing had been softened a bit since the day they had gone shopping together. Both of theirs. “What makes you think I know the lines? You’re the one who wrote it, I might add.”

“Fine,” Louis sighed and looked at the others, scattered across the stage and the auditorium. “Anyone else know the line?”

Niall, currently fake-tied to a plank of wood, shook his head and tried to shrug his shoulders, but then discovered this was not possible due to the ropes tying him to the wood. James quickly flipped through the pages and, about two minutes later, found the right one. The others had already grown impatient, shuffling on their feet and playing with their stage props. One of the ladies from the pirate crew got out a ball of wool and needles, starting to knit a trivet.

“Found it!” James exclaimed, scanning the page. “'I will kill you, Hook. I swear I will. Brother ot not.'”

“That’s the line?” Louis asked unbelievingly. “Now, that’s just lazy writing.”

“Could we please just get on with it?” Niall asked from his position against the mast. “This is anything but comfortable, lads. I can’t feel my arms anymore.”

“Okay, fine,” Louis said, waving his wooden sword around a bit, and then directed it at Nick and Greg in front of him. Or only Nick. Greg was gone. “Where’s Greg?” he asked, throwing his arms back in the air.

“Sorry, mate,” Greg panted from behind him as he came from backstage and took back his spot. “Had to go for a wee.”

“Alright,” Louis sighed, repositioning himself. He opened his mouth to restart the scene- then dropped his sword-arm again. “Sorry, what was the line again?”

Everyone gave a loud groan and then said in unison, “'I will kill you, Hook. I swear I will, Brother or not.'”

“Sorry, sorry. No need to get so grumpy,” Louis said and pointed the tip of his sword back at Nick’s chest. He could hear a quiet chuckle from the audience but didn’t twist to see who it was. He knew. “I will kill you, Hook. I swear I will. Brother of not.” That really was some lazy-ass writing.

After rehearsal, Louis changed out of his costume - the nipple revealing but still quite comfortable green shirt, the trousers, and a pair of black Converse - and waited for Niall and Liam to get ready so they could leave, but things never happen the way you wanted them to, did they? Apparently not. Not as Niall stood amid all the other people like the social green, orange, white butterfly that he was, and Liam lowered himself next to a brooding Zayn in the corner where they just sat next to each other, seemingly quite content without the usage of words.

Louis pointed several times to an invisible watch on his wrist to signal Niall it was time to fucking leave, but Niall pretended he didn’t see him. Frustrated, Louis stumped to the front stage - where he halted. The auditorium was empty besides Harry Styles sitting in the middle of the stage’s edge. Louis could only see his back, swathed in the long shadows stretching across the floor like dark fingers. His head hung low and there was the distinct harsh light of a phone screen lighting his features blue as Louis slowly went up to him.

Hearing the soft thuds of footsteps behind his back, Harry twisted to look at him and immediately managed to pull a cordial smile from somewhere. And it was so very convincing. Had Louis not seen his expression - his entire demeanor - a moment before, he would have believed it. But even having seen his expression - it was hard to remind himself that that smile was false. And once again Louis wondered why Harry Styles had had to learn how to smile so brightly - and so spuriously.

Louis opened his mouth to say something, maybe to inquire what the reason for that false smile was, maybe to ask why he was sitting here alone in the dark even though he was as much of a social butterfly as Niall was, maybe to apologize… He probably should apologize. He cleared his throat, then took a hesitant step toward the boy, that complicated, distracting thing in the air between them straining with every pace. “Listen, Harry…” he started but was cut off by Harry’s eyes widening. “What?”

A ghost of a dimple appeared on Harry’s cheek. He had one of those cheeks that were always rosy like he’d just come in from the cold. Sort of soft-looking. “Did you just call me Harry?” he asked with an unbelieving grin, mouth slightly agape.

Louis huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked upwards. “No.”

In that moment, the rest of the theatre group appeared from backstage, bursting whatever had hung in the air with their loud voices and laughter. When Louis glanced back at him, Harry had turned around. He didn’t try to talk to him again before following Niall and Liam outside and back home.

-

The pub was muggy, everything sticky and sour. Outside, snow drifted past, resting on the dark ground like frosting on a dark chocolate cake. An hour after Louis started his shift, the thin dusting had thickened to a soft, white blanket, untouched by any human feet.

“Hey! Lou! Table three,” Calvin said, nudging his shoulder, and jerked his head to a few customers waiting to be delivered their alcohol. Louis ripped his eyes from the heaping pile of snow on the small windowsill and grabbed the tray with a groan. His head ached and his skin felt itchy, the music was too loud and the room too murky. Suffocating.

He returned to the counter, furrowing his brows at the look Calvin was subtly trying to give him. Oh God. He knew what that look meant. With a sigh, he twisted around to see Stan sitting on one of the high chairs, grinning at Louis. “Hey, Lou.”

Louis heavily put the tray back behind the counter with a loud thud. “How are you?” Stan said, following Louis’ motions with his eyes.

Louis cleaned the counter with a rag, then turned around to grab his jacket. “Just getting ready to leave now. Me shift’s almost over.”

“Awesome.” There was a moment of silence, in which Louis slipped into his jacket and Stan slurped on his beer. “So, what are your plans for Christmas?” Stan asked, setting the glass down on the counter, leaving a circle of liquor on the wood. Louis stared at it with a sigh, knowing it still was his job to clean that up. “Visiting your family?”

“Not likely, no,” Louis replied and lifted Stan’s glass to wipe its bottom and the counter.

“Well that’s a shame,” Stan said, not sounding shameful at all. “Maybe you could come visit my family, then. I’ll spend Christmas with them. They live out in a cottage by the sea, in case you’re interested.”

Yeah, sure. “Thanks.”

Stan grinned into his glass as he took another glug. “You’re welcome.” Louis’ fingers softened a bit on the counter, because, as much as Stan was an idiot, it was actually a pretty nice offer. Not that Louis would ever take it but still - It was a nice gesture. “My family have been asking me for a while when I would finally bring home someone-“

Okay, no. “Alright, good for you,” Louis clipped and shoved a hat over his ears, then steered toward the door.

“You aren’t still with that bloke, are you?”

Louis turned around, furrowing his brows. “What are you talking about?” he sighed.

“That bloke. The one with the brown hair?”

Oh, shit. “Oh, yeah. No. I mean- Yes, I’m still with him.”

Stan seemed surprised by this, thrown off, but then regained composure, and said, “Just you wait, Louis. Just you wait. You’ll come around some day, and I will say I told you so.” Very romantic. Very nauseating.

Louis turned around with an eyeroll, pushing open the door. “Merry Christmas, Louis,” Stan called behind him.

Louis could practically hear his smile. “You too,” Louis threw back over his shoulder, trying to sound polite, as he left the hot, stuffy pub and vanished onto the street. And slammed right into the hard, warm chest of one Harry Styles.

-

Louis rebounded off Harry with a curse, and Harry reached out to steady him against the snowy street. Louis’ eyes lifted and he seemed to realize who he had just almost run over. He stared at Harry for a second, then his head turned to the window of the pub from which light spilled golden into the snow. There was a guy sitting at the counter, watching them with narrowed eyes over the rim of his glass.

“Take my hand,” Louis suddenly demanded under his breath, eyes twitching back to Harry.

Harry snorted a little. “Sorry, what?”

“Just do it,” Louis hissed, and before Harry knew what was happening, Louis had slung an arm around his waist, steering him away from the golden window and noise from the pub. “Okay, now kiss my cheek or summat.”

Harry just stared at him, dumbfounded. “You want me to do _what_? And may I ask why?”

“Just do it,” Louis replied, glaring at him.

Harry twisted to look back. “Is it because of that guy? Are you trying to make him jealous?”

Louis snorted ironically. “Yeah, right.”

Harry raised his brows and leaned slightly back, Louis’ arm still firmly around his coat. “So, what’s in it for me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why should I do it?”

“Um, I don’t know. Bro-code? Basic human decency?”

“Two things you obviously don’t possess or are capable of. And since when are we ‘bros’?” He drew quotation marks in the air at the word ‘bros.’

“Since I need your help,” Louis gave back with a faux-smile, eyes crinkling into crescents. Seeing Harry’s expression, he huffed a deep sigh and the smile dropped from his face. “Fine. I’ll buy you a Pizza or something like that.”

“Cake,” Harry demanded.

“Fine,” Louis said, waving his free hand in the air. “I’ll buy you an entire fucking bakery, just do something. And do it quickly, we’re almost out of sight.”

With a smirk, Harry leaned in and gave Louis a brief kiss on the temple. Louis’ skin felt warm. An ember in the cold. Harry drew back and cleared his throat. “Was that enough?”

Louis glanced back to the pub. “I think he caught it.” Almost immediately, he released his grip on Harry’s waist, dropped his arm and took a step back. “Thanks.”

Harry put his hands in the pockets of his coat, not knowing what else to do with them. There was a moment of silence. A winter sort of silence, nothing to be heard but the snowflakes falling to the ground and the empty trees rusting in a nonexistent wind. “So, who was that?” Harry asked eventually.

“No one.”

“Yeah, right.”

Louis tilted his head to the side and looked at him defiantly. “He’s just some guy who wants me to be his boyfriend or whatever.” He huffed a small laugh. “Actually, he probably just wants to fuck me.”

Harry looked at him, then. Louis didn’t. His eyes were fixated somewhere in the sky, consciously not looking at Harry. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, well, it is. I mean, we already sorta did, but. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I blew him,” Louis gave back, lifting his hands in the air as if in defeat. “But that was just once. And I was drunk. And I never want to do it again. But now he somehow seems to think we’re soulmates or some shit like that. Or I am, in his professional opinion, the best blow-job-giver he’s ever encountered and now he wants to know what else I can do with my pretty tongue and my sinner’s lips.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

Louis’ brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because it’s horrible to think that he only wants you for the sex and not to be your boyfriend. Maybe you got it all wrong and he just wants to take you on a date and woo you and he doesn’t actually care about the sex.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry shrugged. “I think so.”

“I don’t.”

Silence took over once again, until Harry said, “So, am I getting my cake now, or what?”

Louis looked around the dark, empty street. “I strongly doubt there are any bakeries still opened now.”

A grin spread on Harry’s face. “Not true.” He hesitated for a second, but then jerked his head to the next corner. “Mrs. Proctor practically lives in her bakery, so you can repay your debt right now.”

Louis glanced back and forth from Harry to his apartment door. “I should have learnt not to follow you anywhere. The last time I nearly broke all my bones.”

Harry ignored him and marched ahead, snow crunching underneath his boots. After a few steps, he could hear Louis starting to catch up with him. It was a clear night, despite the heavy flurries of snow drifting to the ground, a full moon brightening the streets and the icy ground to silver. Harry was tempted to howl at the moon like a werewolf. Maybe he would have done it, had Louis Tomlinson not been striding behind him, his eyes feeling like hot coals on Harry’s back.

They reached Mrs. Proctor’s small bakery, light glancing from the window into the snow. Harry pushed open the door, not waiting to see if Louis was still following him. At the sight of Mrs. Proctor sitting at one of the small iron tables, head tipped back, loud, very indelicate snores escaping her mouth, Harry had to repress a fond grin. Behind him, Louis entered the bakery, the door softly closing, locking out the snow and cool air.

“See? I told you she practically lives here,” Harry said quietly as he took one of the knitted quilts Mrs. Proctor always made during work and draped it over the woman’s body. “Now,” he said, spinning on his heel, and eyed the display of leftover pastries. “The chocolate torte is _out of this world_ ,” he explained expertly as he walked over to the assortment of treats. “But I can also strongly recommend her lemon tarts and French meringues.” He looked up, eyes glinting. “But my absolute favorite-“ his fingers played a short drumroll on the counter. “The strawberry cake.”

He took said pastry from the display and carefully placed in a white paper box, then rummaged in his pockets and produced the money which he put on the table in front of Mrs. Proctor, securing it with a fork. Then he added another few pounds just to be sure. He also quickly wrote a note on a table napkin nearby. _Dear Evie, your Strawberry cake was, as always, magnificent. Thank you so much! All the love, H_. He adorned the note with a few heart and flower drawings, then carefully put in on the table.

“Isn’t the point of a debt that I pay for that?” Louis asked from his spot near the door and pointed at the cakebox under Harry’s arm.

Harry followed his gaze. “No, that’s fine.”

But Louis’ chin lifted ever so slightly, a sign of his stubborn defiance. “I’ll pay,” he said shortly and strode over to the table to put his own money there. This – Harry had discovered - was how Louis got places - striding. Walking was for ordinary people. Thinking about it, Louis sort of walked like he was a professional sumo wrestler on his way into the ring and weighed about 60 pounds.

Harry wasn’t stupid enough to try to dissuade him over his choice to pay, knowing it would only hurt Louis’ pride and that is was a useless undertaking, anyway. “You don’t want anything?” Harry asked as Louis turned his way again.

Louis’ eyes shifted to the box in Harry’s hands. “You said the strawberry cake was the best, but you took the last one, so I guess you’ll have to share.”

“And you couldn’t have asked? There are a lot of other good things you know?”

Louis merely smiled smugly and grabbed two small forks from a table nearby. “Come on.”

They were about to sit down at a table, when Mrs. Proctor shifted In her seat and a particularly loud snore escaped her mouth. “Maybe we should eat outside,” Harry whispered, frozen mid-motion. “I don’t want us to wake her up.”

Louis eyed the comfortable warm benches in the warm café and then the cold snowy streets outside. “Fine,” he sighed. “You’re right.”

Quietly, they tip-toed their way outside and then stood on the frozen sidewalk, unsure what to do next. “Whatever. Fuck it,” Louis said exasperatedly and lowered himself on the kerb, legs pulled up. Harry plopped down next to him, careful not to smash the cake. Louis lifted his fork like a serial killer ready to take apart his next victim as he stared at the cake. “Now open this fucker up already,” he said, and Harry couldn’t help but grin as he lifted the lid of the box almost reverently and both their eyes lit at the cake before them. A few snowflakes delicately landed on the jelly between the red fruits.

“Bon appetit,” Harry said, still staring at the cake.

“Tuck in!” Louis replied, and the next few minutes were only filled with the sounds of their chewing and the occasional pleased moan. The sounds made Harry giggle, and even coaxed a few smiles from Louis.

“Mrs. Proctor could save lives with her creations,” Harry said in between bites, savoring the taste on his tongue.

“Or she could end them,” Louis replied around a mouthful of soft, fluffy dough. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to die from complete and utter culinary contentedness.”

A little snort of laughter escaped Harry which he covered up with a cough. “Yeah,” he said, scooping up another bit of strawberry and jelly. They finished the cake in silence, leaving not even the littlest of crumbs behind, and Harry leaned back onto the snowy sidewalk, patting his stomach with a happy sigh. He knew they should both get up now and turn back to their respective lives, but neither of them did. Instead, Louis got out a cigarette and lit it inside of his shirt, even though the air was still and without wind.

“Those things really will kill you,” Harry said, pulling his legs up to his chest.

Louis blew out smoke into the crisp air and replied, “Well, at least I already know how I’m going to die. Lung cancer or cough fit or summat. Others will be surprised by their death, like _bam_ and they’re gone, and then they’re like ‘Oh shit, I didn’t see that coming’, and I’ll be laughing my arse off somewhere because I already knew about it.”

Harry hugged his knees with his arms. “I also know how I’m going to die.”

Louis glanced back at him, eyebrows raised slightly. There was tiny flicker of a smile on his face. “Do share.”

“Well, as you probably know, my ability to not be clumsy isn’t great. Neither is my ability to walk without falling. So I’ll probably just fall down some stairs or visit the Grand Canyon and then accidently trip or something.”

“Or die of complete and utter culinary contentedness over Mrs. Proctor’s strawberry tart,” Louis added.

Harry grinned. Louis grinned. It was something.

Louis’ lips closed over the filter once again and, releasing the breath, he asked, “Why theatre?”

Harry looked up from the blanket of snow under his boots. “What?”

“I mean, why are you in an unpaid theatre group in a small town when someone like you should be out there driving expensive cars or playing polo or sleeping with models or whatever.”

“Someone like me?”

“Rich,” Louis gave back dryly, releasing another breath of smoke. “Pretty. Elitist.”

“I want to become an actor.” His voice was quiet, almost as quiet as the night was.

“And this is how you want to do it?”

“I- I wanted to prove something to my dad, alright?” Harry sighed.

Louis looked at him, giving him an inquiring glance. “Sounds intriguing.”

Harry pressed his lips together, still staring at his black boots against the white ground. The entire world seemed to be black and white right now; the dark blanket of night over the soft white powder of snow on the ground, only interspersed by golden streams of smudgy light from the street lanterns. “My dad didn’t - doesn’t - want me to become an actor. That’s - That’s not his idea of a real job. I grew up wanting to be on stage, and hung up all these posters of movies and musicals and plays on my walls, but my dad always hated that. My mum, she’s really supportive, always has been, but- She doesn’t exactly have much say in this. So, one day, I just told my dad I wanted to leave and I would come back as a successful actor. That the next time my name was in a paper, it was because of something _I_ did, not because of something he or his company did. That my name would be in the cast list of some play, however small that role may be. My dad just looked at me for a very long time, and then he said: ‘Twelve months. I give you one year to try your luck as an actor, but I won’t give you any money and you won’t get any help from me.’ So, I asked my aunt if I could come live with her for a bit, visited this town, then came to live with her and joined James’s theatre group.”

“Wait,” Louis cut in. “You mean to tell me that your dad gave you one year to become a professional, paid actor which is quite a task in itself, but you had the fucking brilliant idea to get your start in a tiny town with one horrible theatre group, just hoping for a miracle?”

“If you say it like that, it sounds way more stupid than it initially did in my head. But what was I supposed to do? Just go to London and sleep under a bridge?!”

Louis sighed with a tiny huff of a laugh and flicked his cigarette to the ground where its glimmer died out in the snow. “I’m saying anything is better than _this_ idea.”

“My mum knew someone who lived here and was willing to take me in, which was good enough for me, and… “ He bit his bottom lip, unsure whether or not to say the next words. But Louis probably already knew. “And you were here.” When Louis didn’t say anything, just looked at him with an unreadable expression, Harry continued. “And I knew you were a famous actor and I thought… I thought maybe we could help each other. Bring you back to the stage and introducing me to it. That obviously turned out great.”

Louis ground out the cigarette with his heel, even though it was already out. “Why do you even care? I mean, why do you even give a shit about what your dad thinks or wants you to do and to be?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied, more the starry sky than to anyone else. “He’s still my dad. He may not always be entirely nice, but - He’s still my dad.”

Louis didn’t look convinced, still a skeptical tilt to his mouth.

“He wants me to become a lawyer,” Harry continued with a little laugh. “Or a doctor. Or a business man.”

“You’d make an awful lawyer. Absolutely terrible. And may God help whoever is in the great misfortune of being your patient. They’d be better off treating themselves.”

Harry grinned. “Wow, a real confidence booster.”

“Absolutely terrible,” Louis said again.

“Yes, okay. I’ve got it.”

There was a small smile on Louis’ lips, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Harry had never noticed those crinkles. Maybe that was because they didn’t make an appearance very often. A Louis Tomlinson smile was a very rare commodity. But it was there now, even though it started to slowly fall off his face as the shadows took over most of it, Louis looked at the moon overhead, and said, “It was the day I got the news that my mum had cancer.”

Harry’ eyes snapped to Louis, but Louis wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were narrowed in that way people do when they’re trying to appear casual, but it was clear that this story was anything but casual to him. “You once asked me what had happened that made me come on stage so wasted. It was the day my mum told me she was going to die, and it was a few days after some guys at a bar followed me outside and started beating and hitting me for ‘being a faggot’. They stopped when Niall came in to help me. We put up a really good fight, trust me. It was also the day I read a bad critique about my performance in the play. Believe it or not, but that was my very first bad review. It was a lot. One blow after the other, each heavier and stronger than the last. So. There you have it. That’s the reason I fucked up my entire career and family life with it. Told you. It wasn’t a great day.”

Harry swallowed, not knowing what to say. This Louis - this story-telling Louis - was a different person altogether from any other version of him Harry had encountered. Horrible as the story may be. “Don’t do that,” Louis said.

“Do what?”

“Pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you.” There was a beat of silence, then Harry said, cautiously, “What do you mean ‘and my family life with it’?”

Louis took out his pack of cigarettes again, then saw it was empty and stuffed it back into his pocket. “That day wasn’t my proudest moment. And - and I was ashamed. So ashamed that I didn’t talk to my family for an entire week. And I was scared. Of what would happen to our mum. So scared and ashamed that I didn’t show up to most of her treatments and then I just stopped showing up at all. I felt like they - I sort of felt undeserving, if that makes sense. I didn’t feel like I still belonged there; I didn’t feel like I belonged at all. And that was it. A few too many drinks before showtime, and _whoosh_ there goes your life that you could have sworn just days ago was way too perfect, anyway. Should have seen it coming, really. That is couldn’t be this great forever.”

“So you don’t talk to your family at all anymore?”

“I do a little bit. A few awkward birthday calls here and there, but I don’t - I can’t go back there.”

“Why not?”

“Because-“ A frustrated sigh. “Because they lived on without me and they don’t need me and it’s weird just to show up on their doorstep and be like ‘Hey, remember me? Louis. The brother who abandoned his mother and all of you when they needed him most just because he was fucking ashamed and scared? Yup, that’s me! Can I come in? I brought cookies.’ Yeah, no thank you.”

Harry didn’t reply. This was strange. Just a few days ago, he hadn’t even had a conversation with Louis that went on for this long without either of them declaring how much they disliked the other. Harry glanced back at him, and the sight made him think of a song he had heard once. Alela Diane - ' _The way we fall_ '. The lyrics echoed in Harry’s head, seeming to join the snowflakes in their delicate dance around them.

 _I walked miles after midnight, to a filthy attic room. I can still evoke the stale smoke of his cigarettes, cigarettes, cigarettes_.

Louis released a deep sigh and turned to the empty cake box. “How is it that everything seems to taste better at night?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “Maybe because of the falseness of it. The fact that It is unplanned. Also, the dark has that way of amplifying everything else, making it seem more significant somehow.”

Louis considered this, tilting his head to the side. “Just like ice cream always tastes better in winter.”

“Does it?” Harry asked.

“Wait, are you telling me you’ve never had ice cream in winter? While it was snowing outside?” He turned back to Harry, and for the first time, there seemed to be a real spark in his eyes. The song vaguely echoed in Harry’s ears again.

_Tim was on the sidewalk, with his empty ocean eyes. He was smiling like a shadow and would never age, never age, never age._

“I don’t know. Not that I can remember…”

Suddenly, Louis was up on his feet, brushing the snow from his backside. “Get up, Curly. We have somewhere to be.”

“Where?” Harry asked with a small grin as he scrambled to a standing position, snow still clinging to his clothes.

“You need to know the feeling of eating ice cream while it’s snowing outside. It’s a coldness overload and, as I said, it makes it taste even better.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh. “Where are we supposed to get ice cream now? It’s-“ He glanced at the screen of his phone. “Nearly one a.m. And I’m not even sure I can still eat ice cream after that cake.”

“One can always fit in ice cream. There is no such thing as a bad time for ice cream. Just follow me,” Louis replied while starting to march ahead. He turned around again, and said, “What were you doing outside that late, anyway?”

“Oh, I was at Grimmy’s – Nick’s. Must have totally forgotten about the time.”

Louis raised his brows with a teasing smile. “With Grimmy, huh?”

Harry could feel himself blushing, getting warm despite the cold air. “No, it’s not like that! We’re just friends.”

Louis lifted his hands, eyebrows sill elevated. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought it.”

“Can’t proof that.”

They walked in silence, snow crunching under their feet. “Do you like him?” Louis asked curiously.

“That’s non of your business,” Harry replied without looking at him.

“So you do,” Louis yelled triumphantly, pointing at him. Harry ignored him and sped up his steps. “Fine. Don’t tell me,” Louis scoffed, halting in front of the café he worked in. There was no light inside, chairs stacked on tables, a sign on the door announcing that it was closed. Harry pointed at the sign. Louis batted his finger away and unlocked the door. “You do know I work here, right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know employees were allowed to break into their workplace in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not breaking in if you have a key. Besides, my boss doesn’t care. I do this all the time. Niall and I have pillaged the liquor cabinet more than once and then woken at the arse crack of dawn on one of the tables.”

“This place has liquor cabinet?” Harry asked skeptically, eyeing the bright neon walls and pink menus.

“My boss claims it his most of the time. Helpless drunk, he is.” He disappeared into a room behind the counter for a few minutes, before he returned with one empty ice cream cone in each hand. “Are you coming or not?”

Harry gave him a look, then followed him into the small kitchen where Louis pointed him to the different flavors. “Why do you sell ice cream in winter, anyway?” Harry asked, inspecting the display of artificial colors.

“We don’t. They’re for the staff. Our boss probably thinks that makes up for the horrible pay. I would like to say it doesn’t, but that would actually be a lie.” Harry laughed, pointing out the flavors for Louis to scoop up into the cone. “You are way too predictable, Harry. Mr. Strawberry and vanilla. You’re so boring,” Louis said, handing him the cone.

“A-ha!” Harry shouted, jumping up and down, while pointing. Louis looked like Harry had just scared him to death. “You did it again!”

“Did what?” Louis said, slapping Harry’s hand from his face.

Harry stuck his other hand in Louis’ face, pointing. “Called me Harry.”

Louis rolled his eyes, scooping up his own ice cream. Mint-chocolate-chip and cookie dough. “Fine. If you really want to be so boring, I’ll call you Harry. You also haven’t been calling me King Louis the fourth, so why would I be so kind to make your life a little bit more interesting?”

Harry stared at the cone in his hands for a moment, then cleared his throat and said quietly, “It’s fine.”

Surprised, Louis lifted a hand to his ear, “Excuse me? Could you repeat that? What you just said.”

Harry shook his head, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t say anything, _King Louis the fourth_ ,” Louis corrected him, lowering the hand again. In an impulse, Harry lifted his ice cream and smeared it across Louis’ cheek with a defiant smile. The look on Louis’ face made him erupt into a fit of giggles. “Oh, this means war,” Louis declared and, with a grin, smeared green coldness on Harry’s nose.

Harry got him back with a particularly vicious stab on his cheekbones. Louis of course couldn’t let this sit on him, so he started chasing Harry down into the front room, where they zigzagged around tables until Harry had Louis cornered and managed to grip his own weapon from his hands. What he hadn’t anticipated was that this maneuver made him temporarily avert focus from his own cone, so Louis snapped it from his hand and plunged Harry’s face in it. Harry returned the favor.

For a while, neither of them spoke, too preoccupied with trying to subdue their laughter, but helpless. Louis entire face was a mess of green and blue, clumps of it even clinging to his eyelashes. Harry probably didn’t look any better.

“Your face is as pink as those glasses of yours right now,” Louis said.

“And your face looks like an ice cream painting of the ocean,” Harry observed, tilting his head to the side.

Louis looked at him, slow and hard, then smiled. His blue eyes lit when he smiled. His whole face did. “Truce,” he called, lifting his hands in defeat. “I call for a truce.”

“Oh, but you lost,” Harry grinned.

“No, I did not! _You_ lost. - Let’s just say we both won.”

“Fine. But you are the second winner, I’m the first.”

“I really can’t stand you, Curly,” Louis replied, but he smiled while saying it.

Harry giggled. “My face is really tasty right now,” he said, licking his lips.

Louis touched the tip of his nose with his tongue, tasting the ice cream there. “I could eat myself.” He went over to the space behind the counter, and tossed Harry a rag. “But maybe we should settle for new scoops.” They both wiped the ice cream off their faces, but afterwards, Harry’s skin was still sticky and sugery. He didn’t mind. He liked feeling made out of sweetness.

Louis scooped them both new cones, and Harry took his, noting that Louis still had a faint streak of green across his cheekbone, specked with a few chocolate chips. “Wanna go outside?”

Louis nodded, and they left the small café, cold air making their ice cream seem warm somehow. The sleeping town looked like something out of a fairy tale; strange and new and full of secrets. The bridge over the narrow, black glinting canal arced in the backdrop, its lampposts ghostly. It was miraculous. Harry looked up to the inky sky, stars scattered over it, seeming to become one with the snowflakes drifting down before them. Harry supposed that was the best thing about living in a small town: the stars seemed closer than they did in the city. They seemed close enough to touch, as if he could simply reach up into the sky and pick them like fruit off a tree.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry looked at Louis over his ice cream; the light green streak on his cheek looked like some strange sort of face paint. Harry’s brows creased. It didn’t seem like Louis to ask before posing a question. He didn’t wait for a reply, though, which was more like him. “I saw you, last year. I guess that was when you visited your aunt or whatever. And you were dancing in the snow. If you can call it that.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Harry observed, innocently licking his ice cream. Louis gave him a look. “I don’t know,” Harry finally replied, looking back up to the sky. “It seemed like a good thing to do. Everything looked miraculous.” Harry lifted his arm and brushed the stars with his fingertips. _“Second star to the right and then straight on 'till morning_ ,” he breathed.

The snow was coming down faster now, and his breath was a dragon’s plume. The space around them, the world above them -  a void of night air beset by snow flurries - miraculous. A miracle painted on the space around them. It made Harry want to dance - and he did. He twirled around in the snow, moving and falling alongside the flakes. He stuck out his tongue where the taste of strawberry ice cream mingled with the faintly tickling touch of snowflakes.

He glanced back at Louis and saw that his eyes were merry and astonished as he gnawed on his cone. Harry felt drunk - Could you get drunk on ice cream? “I think I’m having a sugar rush.”

Louis laughed out loud at that, and Harry discovered that he really started to like his laugh that burst of him and seemed to surprise him every time. He was a little scared of the knowledge that he was starting to like it and what that meant. “I don’t think you do,” Louis said, still laughing. “I just think you’re weird like that.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry giggled, spinning and spinning. “I’m a special snowflake.”

“That you are, Curly. No arguing with that. And you have vanilla ice cream in your hair.”

Harry reached up and touched his hairline where his fingers indeed found sticky moistness. “Then I guess I’m a vanilla snowflake.”

“And a strawberry one,” Louis added, pointing at Harry’s face.

“Your lips are blue, by the way,” Harry noted. “But I don’t know if it’s ice cream or if it’s from the cold.”

Louis licked his lips, but they stayed blue. “Both, I think.”

“We should probably go home before we die of hyperthermia,” Harry said, stopping the twirling.

When he turned back, Louis was looking at him. Blue eyes, choppy dark hair licked into spikes by the weather. Black jacket, black boots, black jeans, hands shoved into pockets. All specked with snowflakes.

 _A vision blurred through colored glass, the white washed walls of summer's passed; the smoldering I do_ _recall, the hopeless fade, the way we fall._ “Alright, I guess I’ll see you,” he said, already turning to leave.

Harry lifted his hand and waved a little. “Okay.”

Louis looked at the hand for a second, then waved back. Just a little. “Okay,” he repeated, and his eyes were very still and clear, very dark and watchful. This was something important. This was something fragile, and appeasing. A truce, maybe even a friendship.

Harry also turned to leave and took a few steps. His feet had gotten numb from the cold, a numb prickle in his nerves. Suddenly, Louis called behind him, “Curly?”

Harry turned back with an inquiring expression. “Yeah?”

“I just… I wanted to say sorry for making fun of you for crocheting. I think it’s amazing that you’re so unique and don’t care what other people think. That you have the hobbies and personality of a seventy-year-old woman. That you’re such a special, weird strawberry snowflake. I wish I was that brave.” A smile flickered on his face, a smile full of shadows, and before Harry could answer, he had turned around again and strode down the black and white street. Always striding.

“I think you are,” Harry said quietly, but it was too quiet for it to be heard by the slowly disappearing silhouette down the street. _Or I think you could be, again._ With one last lingering look, Harry turned back and walked the rest of the way to his house.

-

The apartment was quiet and dark when Louis opened the door, but there was light spilling from the seams of the kitchen door. He opened it to see Niall sitting on the kitchen counter, eating dry cereal from the package.

“We do have chairs, you know?” Louis said, but hopped on the counter next to Niall, bumping his head on a kitchen cupboard. He was too cold to care. “And we have bowls, spoons and milk,” he added with a poignant look at the dry cereal. “Crazy, I know.” Niall held the package up to him without words and Louis scooped up a handful of dry cereal. “What are you doing up so late, anyway? It’s like two o’clock at night.”

“Couldn’t sleep and I was hungry,” Niall mumbled through his mouthful of frosted mini wheats. “But I guess you could trace those two things back to the same issue. I was hungry, so I couldn’t sleep.” He was wearing nothing but boxers and colorful socks with squirrels on them, his hair in a complete disarray. “You have ice cream on your cheek,” he noted.

Louis touched his cheek, then grabbed a paper towel and wiped the green mint from his face. His skin still felt sticky and sweet all over. “Should I ask how it got there?” Niall asked.

Louis tipped his head back, regarding the kitchen ceiling. “I guess it’s a pretty long story.”

“Please don’t tell me you had sex with anyone in the café ice cream display. It probably already happened there, but I’ll never eat in that café again. Hell, I won’t take a step into that establishment ever again.”

Louis laughed quietly. Making loud noises somehow felt wrong in kitchens at night. “Don’t worry. That’s not what happened.” He paused for a second, then said, “Maybe you were right. He’s okay.”

“Who? Harry?”

Louis grabbed another handful of cereal. “Yeah, Harry.”

“Is he the one responsible for you smelling like diabetes personified?” Louis smiled quietly. “I won’t even bother to ask,” Niall said. “Though I can’t say I’m not curious.”

“By the way, I think - I think we should call off that bet - The one about me becoming friends with him. I’ve practically already won.”

Niall chewed, then swallowed, and replied, “Sure. I didn’t care for that bet anyway. You were the one who wanted to proof something to yourself or whatever. I knew what a nice fella Harry was and that you used to make everyone love you within a few minutes.” He held up his phone, the display bright and harsh in the soft yellow light. “And I’ve already invited him over for Christmas.”

“You what?”

Niall gave him a look. “Is it really a problem?”

“No, I guess not,” Louis sighed. “It’s fine.”

The minutes ticked by but they stayed seated with dangling legs as the snow heaped on the windowsill, too awake to sleep but too tired to speak. Just existing. And that’s actually what it felt like, this night. It felt like existing, and maybe even a little bit of living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! :)
> 
> Just wanted to say the rehearsal scene in this chapter was loosely inspired by a scene in the movie 'the Disaster Artist' (a really funny scene, by the way) 
> 
> Also, you should really listen to the song mentioned in this chapter (and also the name-giver): "The Way We Fall" by Alela Diane. Absolutely beauuutiful song! 
> 
> Okay, thank you again so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying it so far... <3


	9. Christmas Lights and Birthday Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis makes a new friend. Finally.

_Song(s):_

_"All that I want" - The Weepies_

 

“Happy birthday, Lou!” Calvin called behind him, but Louis was already through the pub door and then up the stairs to his apartment, breathing ragged from the unexpected exercise. Fuck, those cigarettes really did mess with your lungs, didn’t they? Whatever. Who needed lungs anyway when there was news like this to be spread?

“Neil!” he yelled as he stormed into the flat.

“What?” Niall answered from behind the door Louis had flung open in his face.

“Oh, sorry,” Louis said with a grin which could be seen as very unapologetic.

Niall rubbed his nose and glared at him. “Birthday or not, I’m about to fuckin’ hit you.”

“Hit me all you want, it won’t dampen my mood.”

Liam stormed from his room into the corridor, alarmed by the noise. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Yes,” Niall snapped. Then, turning back to Louis, “I’ve never seen you so excited about a birthday before. Least of all yours. Weren’t you the one who was in such a bad mood this morning about being so old?”

"Twenty-four is very fucking old,” Louis muttered. “ _But_ all of that doesn’t matter, because I just received the best birthday gift of _all time._ ”

“What? Better than the inflatable trampoline I gave you this morning?” Liam said, appalled.

“And better than my crazy sock collection?” Niall added. “There were ten pairs! I even gave you Rainbow socks, Lou. _Rainbow socks._ If you don’t want them, I’ll take ‘em back.”

“No, your presents were great,” Louis replied, the crazy grin back on his face. “But _I_ just heard that _the Rogue_ are playing at a club in close proximity in a few weeks. Calvin told me. _The Rogue_ , guys. The fucking Rogue _._ _THE ROGUE._ ”

“The what?” Liam asked, at the same time as Niall let out an inhumane groan and knocked his forehead against the door.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know about _the Rogue_ ,” Louis said to Liam incredulously.

“Of course he doesn’t know about the fuckin’ Rogue,” Niall chimed in. “Why would he? No one knows about _the Rogue_ and for a damn good reason. They suck. They are, to be frank, one of the worst bands of all time.”

Louis pointed an accusing finger at Niall. “Don’t say another word against them. Don’t. you. Dare.”

Niall raised his palms. “You know how I feel about them.”

Louis smiled wickedly. “But you’ll still go with me, won’t you? And you too, Liam.”

Niall’s pained expression softened a bit. “Of course I’ll go with you. Because, then, my dear friend, you will forever be in my debt.”

“Sure, I’ll go check them out with you,” Liam said with a shrug. “You could play me some of their stuff later.”

“Am I smelling a _Rogue_ Christmas party?” Louis grinned. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Niall pretended to stab himself and then dropped to the floor, tongue hanging out of his mouth. “But you don’t just ‘check them out’. You feel them,” Louis corrected Liam, grooving around the corridor like a swaying alga. He stepped over the mock-dead body on the floor, humming a song by _the Rogue_.

The body beneath him cracked open an eye. “You know there’s a reason why they don’t really play anywhere, right?”

“Swim against the current,” Louis replied, patting Niall’s cheek.

Niall pretended to die again.

-

Later, they were sitting on the couch and Louis was procrastinating. “Just call ‘em,” Niall sighed, eyes fixed on the golf game on TV.

“You know, I find it insulting that you spend my birthday watching telly. And golf, of all things,” Louis scoffed. 

“Just call. And what else am I supposed to do?”

Louis eyed his phone with disdain.

“I know you want to speak to them.” Niall’s voice was softer now. “And I know they want to speak to you.”

“Then they would have called this morning.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of your whining,” Liam chimed in and grabbed Louis’ phone from the table.

Louis lunged for it. “Don’t you dare-“

“Oh, I dare.”

Suddenly, they both stopped and stared at the phone in Liam’s hand, which was now buzzing. “Ugh, fine,” Louis said and took the phone back, trying to seem nonchalant even though he wasn’t. If he he was really frank with himself, he had been looking forward, dreading, anticipating this call from the second he had woken up that morning.

With shaky fingers, he pressed accept and a sudden cheery chant of _Happy Birthday_ erupted from the phone. Niall and Liam pretended to be completely enhanced by the game, but Louis knew they were listening. “Happy birthday, Lou!” all his sisters cheered.

Louis cleared his throat. “Thanks, guys,” he said in a somewhat tangled voice. “How are you?”

Lottie, his oldest sister replied, “We’re good, yeah. But how are _you_? You’re the birthday boy after all.”

“Yeah - Yeah, I’m good.”

There was a brief pause, before both of them started talking again at the same time. “Oh, sorry. You go ahead,” he said, pinching up his face.

“I just wanted to ask what you’re doing today. Any plans?”

“No, no not really. Just watching a bit of telly. There aren’t really any clubs or pubs open on Christmas Eve here, so.”

“Oh, yeah… Makes sense. You sure you don’t want to come visit for Christmas?” They hadn’t asked before.

“Hey, Louis. It’s Dan,” a voice from the speaker said chipperly. Dan, his mum’s husband. “Listen, I know this is a bit last minute, but you should know that if you want to come over you can. It’ll be fun. The twins are making meringues for all of us. They’ve been preparing it in the kitchen for days.” He laughed a bit. “They are very excited for us to try their creations. Can’t be worse than that time Fizzy tried making the Christmas roast.”

There was lump in Louis’ throat and it suddenly seemed impossible to swallow. “Louis? Are you still there?” Lottie asked.

Louis blinked a few times. “Yeah, ‘m still there. Sounds great. Good luck to the twins. I’d love to come, but you know… I’ve got stuff to do here, so… But have lots of fun!”

“Did you get our present already? This is Fizzy here, by the way.” This made the lump even bigger. Of course it was Fizzy. Did they really think he wouldn’t recognize their voices?

“Yes, I got them. Thank you so much. They’re amazing.”

“What’s your favorite?”

The voice made Louis laugh a tiny bit. “Hey, Phoebe. I love them all. Don’t have a favorite. The shoes were great, though. I really needed new shoes.”

“I picked them out,” Lottie declared proudly from the other end of the line.

There was a silence on both ends, before Dan cleared his throat, and said, “Well, listen, Louis. It was great talking to you and _Happy birthday_ again. Have fun.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis said, dragging his fingernail over the rough texture of the sofa cushion. He picked at a loose thread, pulling it out farther.

“Say goodbye to Louis,” Lottie said in a voice that suggested she was speaking to the youngest, Doris and Ernest. “Bye, Louis!” everyone called, the twins fighting in the background over some ingredients for their baking.

“Bye, guys,” Louis replied and hung up. He stared at the screen for a moment.

“Why _don’t_ you visit them?” Liam asked from his spot in the armchair, feet crossed on the couch table.

“They don’t actually want me there.”

Liam furrowed his brows and smiled. “Didn’t they just invite you? Why would they do that if they didn’t want you there?”

“Because that’s their moral responsibility as my relatives. And it would be weird if I just visited them after all this time. It’s like- The longer you have a fight with someone and don’t talk to them, the weirder it is having to be the one who apologizes.”

“But you didn’t have a fight with them, did you?”

“It’s a metaphor, you knob. Admittedly, a bad one, but- Ugh, I don’t know, ok? I don’t fucking know.” He grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. “I don’t know anything,” he said into it.

“He’s scared,” Niall stated calmly without averting his eyes from that stupid golf game. “He’s simply scared of having to face his family again because that would bring back bad memories and god forbid he actually works through some stuff instead of running from it. He’s scared that when he returns home they won’t look at him the same way again, that they will have changed and didn’t need him for it, that they won’t like him anymore, or worst of all: Pity him. So he hides from them just like he hides from everything else.”

Louis lowered the pillow. “What the fuck.” Niall still didn’t look at him, only stared indifferently at the screen. “It’s still my birthday, you know? And I thought I was the one with a failed psychology degree. And you’re wrong, by the way. Totally wrong.”

Stubbornly, he got up and stomped into the corridor. On the doorstep, he spun around again, wagging a finger at the couch. “You’re wrong,” he said again.

“Sure I am, mate,” Niall only said offhandedly, and Liam grinned.

“We still don’t have a Christmas tree, by the way,” Louis called over his shoulder.

“I told you, Christmas trees are cheapest when you buy them as late as possible,” Niall gave back.

“Yes, because they are all sold out by then,” Liam said, typing something on his phone.

“Listen to the boy,” Louis told Niall smugly.

Niall switched off the TV and twisted to look at him. “Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Let’s go get a Christmas tree and realize that I was right all along.”

-

As it turned out, Liam was the one who had been right all along as they stood at a completely empty Christmas tree farm. Well, not completely empty. All three of them stared at what they guessed was a Christmas-tree-esque shape. “That’s all that’s left, really?” Niall asked the vendor, panic rising in his voice. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Liam, typing god-knew-what on his phone, said, “Told you so,” then looked up from the screen. “But don’t worry; I have a solution.”

Louis and Niall turned to look at him, the vendor realizing that this was a hopeless case, and trudged back to his house. “You could have told me that before I paid for that thing,” Niall said, exasperated, and pointed at the poor little “Christmas tree” at his feet. The tree reminded Louis of the brownies Niall had baked the first time they had met Liam. They didn’t confine to reforms, to put it nicely.

A grin spread on Liam’s face, brown eyes glinting. “Zayn said he had a spare tree.”

Louis replied, confused, “A spare tree? Who the fuck has spare Christmas trees just lying around in their house? Why do you need a spare tree? Why does he need a tree anyway? I thought he’d come to stay with us.”

“Rich people have spare trees lying around, that’s who,” Niall informed them and Liam nodded.

“Ok, I’ll go pick up the tree and you guys decorate the apartment,” Liam said determinedly.

“Decorate the apartment?” Louis laughed. “With what exactly?”

“With the decoration I bought,” Liam replied, annoyed.

“You bought decoration? What for?”

“Um, decorating?”

“Wow, you really like that boy, don’t you?”

Liam’s shoulders stiffened. “I like decorated apartments for Christmas, that’s what I like.”

Niall smiled at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll decorate the hell out of that apartment. No need to worry, you just go and pick up the tree. And don’t forget to bring your mistletoe.” The last sentence was accompanied by a wink on Niall’s part, and an eyeroll on Liam’s part.

-

When Liam returned later that afternoon, dragging a large tree behind him, Niall and Louis were lounging on the couch, drinking wine straight from the bottle. Niall was wearing a party hat and Louis was wearing a shirt that said in giant pastel pink letters: _I’M THE BIRTHDAY GIRL_.

When Liam saw their attempts at decorating the apartment, he dropped the tip of the tree and sighed at the ceiling. “Did you try to make it as ugly as possible?”

Niall and Louis looked around the room. “What, you don’t like it?” 

Liam didn’t even bother to take off his coat before trying to fix the drooping garlands and pine needles they had scattered and draped everywhere. “Relax, Liam,” Niall drawled. “It’s fine. Sit.”

Louis pointed the wine bottle at him. “Here. Have some. It’s my birthday.”

Liam straightened another garland, then sighed and made his way over to the couch where he leaned over the backrest and chugged the rest of the bottle. “I hate you,” he said, handing the bottle back to Louis who stared at its emptiness with dismay.

The door opened again, and he turned around to see Zayn stepping over the fallen tree, cheeks pink from the frigid day. Liam’s scowl vanished as he looked at Zayn, his face lighting up. “Who did the decorating?” Zayn asked, looking around the room. “It’s beautiful.”

“Me,” Liam, Niall and Louis said as one.

It was starting to get dark outside now, a grey blanket lowering itself on the white one. Swirls of powder blue adorned the sky. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” Liam asked. “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I just don’t really want to think about it, to be honest. Makes me feel old. Can’t we just pretend it’s Christmas Eve and nothing else?”

Niall looked at him and gave him a smile. “I’m not gonna say I get it, but I accept it. That actually sums up my relationship to you pretty well.”

“Great,” Louis said, scrambling off the sofa. “Then I’ll go take my birthday bath now.”

“Weren’t you the one complaining about feeling old just one second ago?” Liam snorted. “That’s what eighty-year-old people do on their birthday.”

“I have earned a birthday bath,” Louis gave back and handed Liam his party hat, then patted his cheek. “You go set up the tree.”

“This all feels way too domestic for a flat housing three young men in their twenties,” Liam sighed as he hoisted the tree from the floor. “When do we adopt our first puppy? Or maybe we should just go straight to baby.”

Louis patted into the bathroom and let the water run into the tub, then poured a fair share of any sorts of bath bombs and foam he could find into it. The water turned a strange brownish color, but Louis didn’t mind, lowering himself in the tub anyway. What he hadn’t told Liam was that this was his tradition. For as long as he could remember, on every birthday he had taken a bath; well. Showering hadn’t been up for debate since they didn’t have a shower in their tiny home in Doncaster.

His fingers curled around a phantom cigarette on the tub edge. Hoisting himself half into the air, he stretched his body, scrambling for his trousers on the tiled floor. Finally, he managed to grab hold of it and got out a packet of cigarettes plus a lighter from one of the pockets. He dropped back into the tub, water splashing from the sides, and lit the cigarette after cracking open the narrow window above his head, the smoke curling in the space where cold winter air met hot steam. So, this was his life now. Smoking even in the bathtub.

The foam drifted on the water surface, soft white mountains on the weirdly dark sea. Harry’s bathing water was probably a soft pastel colour, with flowers drifting on the surface. The water would be pink. Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about Harry Styles’s bathing water.

Tipping his head back, he pondered the question what exactly was fucking wrong with him. At that moment, the door cracked open and Zayn’s black hair peeked through. “Can I come in?”

Louis checked if the foam was covering all hazardous locations, then nodded. Zayn gave him a small smile and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

Louis tried to ignore the fact that he was currently very indecent, Zayn seemingly not even noticing or caring. “I thought you might be having a smoke,” Zayn said, eyeing the cigarettes between Louis’ fingers.

Rolling his eyes, Louis lifted the cigarette back to his lips, then handed it over to Zayn. “So can I ask why you’re disturbing my quiet birthday bath peace?”

“I didn’t want to decorate the tree. So I guess laziness was the reason.” Exhaling, he handed back the cigarette and pressed his lips together. “Twenty-four really isn’t very old, you know?”

Louis’ lips closed over the moistness over the filter without a reply. “Still older than I was yesterday.”

“I guess that’s the thing about days: With each passing one you age one.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

-

The tree was set up when Louis walked back to the living room, wet hair dripping on his sweater. It didn’t even look half bad- Louis could almost forget that this wasn’t the Christmas he was used to- A loud, bustling house filled with close and distant relatives, the smell of cookies, and a loud family chorus singing Happy Birthday to him.

“Looks great,” he said, sitting down on the floor next to the tree like a little boy staying up to catch Santa Claus. Niall entered the room, balancing a cake on his hands and everyone started singing Happy Birthday.

“You’re becoming a fire risk now,” Niall said with a smile as he set down the cake on the floor in front of Louis, twenty-four burning candles setting the air aglow.

“Luckily we would have Liam in that case,” Louis said. Liam smiled at him.

“I didn’t bake it myself,” Niall grinned. “Wouldn’t do that to you on your birthday.”

Louis put his hand on Niall’s shoulder. “That’s the biggest present you could have given me,” he said solemnly.

“Fuck off and wish for something before the house burns down,” Niall grinned, nudging his chin at the cake. “I’m hungry.” Niall’s grin really did make a lot of the shadows always blurring and sharpening Louis’ vision vanish. A sudden wave of adoration made Louis want to pinch his cheek, but he politely refrained.

“What are you going to wish for?” Zayn, perched on the armchair across from Louis, asked quietly.

“That God finally puts me out of my misery and ends my pointless existence on this earth?” Louis replied with a smile, but the others didn’t laugh. “Fine,” Louis sighed and stared at the sparkling candles.

What was he going to wish for? Where should he start? He couldn’t blow out a breath for as long as the list would go on for. His old life back, maybe. Yeah, he just wanted his old life back; with that, you got the full package of things he wanted. For his mum to miraculously come back to life, one day just stand on his doorstep and declare it all a big joke. That the grave they had buried her in had actually been empty this whole time. He wanted his life as a successful actor in London back, on the steep way to becoming one of the top names in Theatre productions around the world, considered and chosen for every big role there was. He wanted to turn back time, do things differently. Not leave his family alone; abandon them when they needed him most. As much as he loved the boys in the overstuffed living room around him, he wanted to sit in his family’s house, see his sisters unpack their presents and receive hand-drawn pictures by the youngest ones.

He cracked open one eye at the impatient faces before him, itching to finally get their hands on the cake. He didn’t answer Zayn’s question as he gathered his breath and blew, the wish echoing in his head. It was a simple, stupid wish, one that wasn’t as big a word as all the other ones, but still the one ringing the loudest.

 _Home_.

He guessed that’s what he really wanted most of all: Finally feeling at home.

As Zayn, Niall, and Liam lunged for the cake like hungry animals, laughs filling the room like a water being poured into a bowl, Louis thought that maybe he was already closer to his wish coming true than he had first realized.

In that moment, the still-broken doorbell shrieked, pieces of cake pausing half-way to their journeys to awaiting mouths. The last candle Louis’ breath hadn’t reached flickered out. “I’ll get it,” Louis said after a heartbeat, scrambling to his feet. “Probably Mr. Walters from upstairs here to steal some cake. He’s always creeped me out.”

But it wasn’t the creepy Mr. Walters standing at the front step when Louis yanked open the door - It was Harry, cheeks flushed with cold, snow clinging to his hair.

“Curly,” Louis blurted, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Harry seemed nervous, chewing on his bottom lip as he extended a hand, fingers loosely gripping a small box wrapped in glittery blue paper. “Niall mentioned that is was your birthday, so I wanted to give you this as a present.”

Louis eyed the present, then hesitantly took it from Harry. He hadn’t seen the boy since their shared adventure in the snow; eating cake on the frosted sidewalk and declaring ice cream wars in dim cafés. “Thanks,” he said, lifting his eyes from the present. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

Harry gave him a tight smile, still lingering at the doorstep. “I should get going now. Have fun, and Merry Christmas.”

He was nearly down the corridor, hand on the staircase railing when Louis blinked, and said, “Do you have somewhere to be?” Harry’s head lifted and he looked at him, surprised. “Do - Do you want to come in? There’s still some cake left, I think.”

“I would love to,” Harry smiled after a short moment of hesitation, and Louis opened the door a bit wider.

When they stepped into the living room, Niall waved his fork in the air. “Harold! I didn’t expect you till tomorrow.”

Harry carefully sat on the sofa. “I actually just wanted to drop something off. My aunt and cousin are already asleep, so I thought I could come over tonight.”

“Open our presents, Louis!” Zayn exclaimed, handing him a gift wrapped in yellowish newsprint.

“Alright.” Louis carefully ripped away the newsprint, revealing a book about the mating process of migratory birds beneath it. “Thank you, Zayn,” he said, unable to contain his laughter.

Zayn nodded solemnly, not taking Louis’ laughter as an insult, but more as a victory. “You’re very welcome.”

Louis reached for Harry’s present on the couch table and he put in in his lap, starting to peel off the blue paper, and then opened the box. Louis had to stare at the thing inside for a few seconds before his brain registered what lay inside it. Then, he tipped back his head and laughed. It was the loudest laugh he had heard from himself in a long time, and he quickly pressed his lips together with the effort to stop it as he lifted the large pink knitted wool hat from the thrift store and put it over his hair.

The others gave him confused looks, but Harry’s dimples flickered on his cheeks and Louis could see him biting his lips to stop the laughter from erupting. “You didn’t seem to be able to let go of it, so I thought might as well,” he explained.

“Thank you,” Louis said, patting the pompon on his new hat. He was being sincere. He liked the gift. It was pink and obnoxious and nothing Louis would normally ever wear- but it was comforting. It was big, and warm, and felt like a blanket in an icy night. Maybe Louis was overthinking a mere hat.

Harry stabbed his fork unenthusiastically into his piece of cake, a tilt to his mouth. Zayn seemed to notice it, too, and asked, in a calm voice, “He didn’t call, did he?” It was said matter-of-factly; an observation, not a guess.

Everyone knew who he was talking about. Liam and Niall inspected their cakes as if they had suddenly found something extremely interesting in them. The atmosphere in the room seemed to change as if the temperature had just dropped a few degrees.

“It's not Christmas yet. There's still time,” Harry replied to his plate, then looked up, a tight smile on his lips. He looked like he might say something else, but stopped himself before the words could slip out.

“Wanna watch some movies?” Niall piped up, trying to make light of the situation, and, as always, succeeding.

They decided on a horror movie in which a girl decided for some reason that didn’t make any sense to camp in the woods with her friends (because that’s not practically screaming to be eaten by a monster), and SURPRISE: One after one, all the appropriately diverse characters for maximum box office were devoured, leaving only the blond girl and the monster alone in the woods. Louis predicted the exact order in which the unnaturally attractive teenagers would die, making a game out of it. In the end, he won with ten points, Zayn a close second with eight.

Harry insisted on watching a rom-com next, and one of those became two, and in the end, they basically binge-watched Meg Ryan’s entire filmography from the eighties and nineties.

He saw Harry moving his lips at Billy Crystal’s end-monologue in _When Harry met Sally_ , speaking the words with him. Louis quickly took another bite of his cake and averted his eyes before he could smile, or even worse: speak the words with him.

“You see? That is _just_ like you, Harry! You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you! And I hate you, Harry. I really hate you,” Meg Ryan exclaimed from the screen. Louis chewed more frantically on his cake.

When the cake and all of its leftover crumps was gone, and they were all seeing blurry dots in their vision from staring at the screen, silence settled in the room and they all apathetically stared at the ceiling, patting their full bellies. Louis peered at the clock. His birthday was over.

“You know what? That was actually a pretty good birthday,” he said quietly, arm dangling over the sofa edge.

“You’re welcome,” Niall lazily grinned.

“I didn’t say it was your doing,” Louis replied. “I’m actually talking about _the Rogue_ news.”

Harry sat up. “ _The Rogue_? What about them?”

Louis propped up on an elbow and stared at him, suspicious. “You know _the Rogue_? No one knows _the Rogue_.”

“Are you kidding me?” Harry said with a laugh. “I love them!”

Louis’ mouth dropped open a little bit. “You’re joking.”

“Never,” Harry grinned.

“I may have totally underestimated you, Curly.”

“Thank you?” He smiled. “So, what’s the news about them?”

Louis blinked. “They’ll play at a club not far from here in a few weeks.”

Harry jumped up, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god! Are you kidding? They _never_ play anywhere!”

Louis couldn’t believe this was happening. Fangirling about a band with Harry Styles of all people? On his _birthday._ Before he could talk himself out of it, he ran to the record player and started playing a _‘The Rogue’_ album. The only one, to be precise. Niall groaned, but he was laughing.

Louis turned up the volume, the scratchy voices of the lead singer filling the room. “The neighbors will be thrilled,” Liam noted with a concerned look to the ceiling.

“Mr. Cowell lives up there. He’s practically deaf and deserves it for being the most horrible person on the planet.” Louis gave back with a shrug and flipped off the ceiling, his neighbor with it.

“Not me?” Harry asked with a teasing grin.

Louis rolled his eyes and shoved Harry’s shoulder playfully. He didn’t answer. Grinning, Liam got up and started dancing to the song playing on the record player. Harry joined him, then Niall. Zayn and Louis gave each other apprehensive side glances, sliding a bit deeper into the cushions of the creaking couch.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” Louis muttered, then grabbed the wine bottle from the table and emptied it. There wasn’t a lot left in it, so it didn’t really help. Niall laughed his bright Niall-laugh and dragged Louis off the sofa by the arm.

For a second, Louis let himself lose the thoughts, the aloofness, the façade. Just one second. And then another one. With a _Rogue_ record playing and Christmas lights twinkling around him, how could he not? It felt like a little peek from under the blanket, a light brush of fresh air, a dilution of smoke. Just barely, but there.

Suddenly, Harry stopped dancing. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis could see him take a deep breath, before saying, “I guess this would be a good moment to say something. As long as you’re all blissfully primed and maybe more likely to be persuaded.”

The last accords of the song dwindled away, and silence settled in between the space of Harry’s words, the others staring at him. Harry seemed to notice it, too, and bit his lip, unsettled by the inquiring looks. “Well, I, um- I… My father sort of wants me to come home for New Year’s and – _Iwantedtoaskofyouwouldmaybecomealong._ ”

The others stared, trying to decipher the string of words coming from Harry’s mouth. He slowed down a bit. “There’s this big party at the house, and he told me to bring some of my friends, and I thought- I thought maybe, you would want to come.” Quickly, he added, “You would of course stay with us at the house, no need for a hotel.” He stopped, staring at them, and raised his shoulders a little bit. “It could be fun, I guess?”

Before anyone could reply, a crash sent them twirling around. The sofa had collapsed, gently, with Zayn still trapped in the cushions.

No one spoke for a very long second, then, without any comment, Louis grabbed a white towel from the couch table and solemnly draped it over the collapsed sofa like a shroud. Niall crossed himself. Zayn stared at the shroud, face pale, hands gripping the backrest like a raft. Harry took a shy step forward and lowered his head. “Should I say a few words?”

The others nodded, still not speaking. Harry cleared his throat. “This… sofa, had a very exciting and fulfilled life. More people have sat on it that it could ever have dreamed of, and- and it has seen a lot of the world. Now it’s time for it to move on and maybe be reincarnated. Who knows, maybe in its next life it can finally be an armchair or a chaise longue, like it’s always dreamed of.”

Louis pressed his lips together, stifling laughter. Harry wasn’t as successful. His giggles interrupted the speech, rising up from his chest like champagne bubbles. Liam and Zayn lifted their heads, and also started laughing. And then Niall did, too. “I guess this means we’ll need a new couch,” he said in between his loud laughs.

Harry cleared his throat, and tentatively spoke up. “So, um, will you come to my father’s with me?”

They all turned to him. “Sure,” Niall said with a grin, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll never say no to a free pint.”

Louis had a feeling that Desmond Style’s house wasn’t the sort of place where you drank pints, but he didn’t say anything. To be honest, he was curious. He wanted to know why Harry had the ability to switch moods like masks and how much his family had to do with it. And something told him Harry wanting to have company wasn’t the reason he had asked them to come along. No, there had to be more to it.

Liam nodded. “Sure, we’ll come along.”

Harry practically beamed. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” 

Zayn, still stretched out on the collapsed sofa, yawned. “Sure thing.” Then he curled up like a cat and blinked up at them. “’M tired. Good night.” Before anyone could reply, he had closed his eyes and was sound asleep.

Louis raised his brows. “I swear every time I see him he gets weirder. You all do, by the way,” he said, pointing at the other three. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

Niall slung an arm around his neck. “It’s because you love us,” he grinned.

Louis gave a dry laugh. “I tolerate you. Sometimes. On good days.”

They all spent the night tangled in blankets on the living room floor, empty wine bottles and crinkled crisp packages scattered around them. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was- It was good. Staring out the window at the falling snow outside, Louis could almost imagine his wish having been fulfilled. Could almost forget everything that had gone wrong before this, just accept what was now. It had been a good birthday. And maybe being twenty-four wasn’t as bad as he had imagined.

-

The glare of sunlight on snow glinting from the closed windows awoke him on Christmas morning. Scowling at the brightness, Louis turned his head away from the window... But his cheek collided with something warm and… bony? Not a pillow. Peeling his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and opening his leaden, sticky eyelids, Louis looked at his unknown replacement pillow.

It took a few moments for his brain to process what it was. A foot. Clad in a black sock. Harry Styles’ foot.

Quickly, he sat up, wincing at the headache biting behind his brows and in his back at the sudden movement. Fuck: one day of being 24 and already he had back cramps?! Not fair. Totally not fair.

The others were all still asleep around him. It was very unusual for Louis to wake up first. He grabbed his phone and glanced at the time. Almost seven. With a groan, he let himself drop back on his blanket. What an ungodly time. He tried to go back to sleep, but it didn’t work, no matter how tired and hungover he was. His skin felt itchy, his tongue rotten, his hair greasy. Merry fucking Christmas to him.

Grudgingly, he fought his way to his feet and slumped to the bathroom where he took an ice-cold shower, despite the cold outside.

Afterwards, he felt better; cleaner. He climbed through his bedroom window to his usual spot on the fire escape and smoked a cigarette, watching the still sleeping town dressed in Christmas lights and draped by a white blanket. When he had been younger, he had always secretly sneaked outside after his mother had brought him to bed with a final birthday kiss, and watched the night sky for Santa’s sled. He hadn’t believed in him, but his younger sisters had, and there had always been that spark of maybe, of perhaps, of hope. When he had gotten older, it had less become about spotting Santa, but more about thinking, or getting a moment alone. At some point, his sisters had joined him one by one, taking his place as the ones hoping to spot Santa.

Looking up now, the sky only stared back, blankly bright and cloudy white, no sled in sight. Who would have thought?

“I thought you might be here.”

Louis turned around, startled. Harry stood in the doorway of his room, his hair still messy from sleeping. “Jesus, you have to stop sneaking up on me like that, Curly,” Louis said, but he scooted a bit to the side to make space for him.

Tentatively, Harry climbed through the window and sat down next to him. The memory of the last time the two of them had sat on this spot sneaked up on Louis, and he quickly dragged on his cigarette, then flicked the ash through the railing. “I didn’t sneak up on you,” Harry said. “I saw you weren’t there, and I figured you’d be here. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah. You too?”

“No, I just usually wake up this early.”

“Freak,” Louis replied, but he smiled.

“Asshole,” Harry said, but he smiled, too. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Louis let out a breath. “Merry Christmas.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the sun slowly started slipping over the dusted rooftops, bleeding orange and red in the bright white sky. Louis’ mouth twitched as he pulled his new bright hat from the pocket of his hoodie and pulled it over his ears after flicking away his cigarette. Harry didn’t say anything, but Louis could see his smile out of the corner of his eye. “What?” Louis said, scowling. “I was cold.”

Harry didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows raised a little. He was still wearing his outfit from last night, a light pink silk blouse with faint white flowers stitched into it and black skinny jeans, now all a little crumpled. “I’m really excited for the _‘the Rogue_ ’ gig, by the way,” he said eventually, looking at the rooftops and plaything houses.

“I really didn’t think you would like a band like _‘the Rogue’_.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “And what bands did you think I would listen to?” he asked with a frown.

“I don’t know, Shania Twain? Savage Garden?” Louis laughed.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “You can like both.”

Louis laughed a bit louder. “So I was right? And I never said you couldn’t like both. _I_ like both.”

Harry glanced at him. “You do?” he asked suspiciously.

Louis shrugged. “Sure.” Another few minutes of silence later, Louis said, “You’re actually not that bad, you know? You’re actually pretty cool.”

He didn’t look at Harry, but he could hear him huff a laugh and see him place a hand over his heart. “Thank you. I really needed your validation for that.”

Louis rolled his eyes with a smile. “I was just trying to be nice, Curly. Christmas spirit and all.”

Another few heartbeats of silence, then Harry, still staring ahead, said, “And can actually be pretty nice. Maybe you should show it a bit more sometimes.”

“Wow, are we giving each other advice now?” Louis asked, twisting to him and rubbed his palms against each other. “Then I also have something to tell you: You shouldn’t care that much about what other people think of you.”

A frown creased Harry’s brows. “What do you mean? I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. I mean, you wear your crazy clothes and behave like an eighty-year-old woman and all that, but you’re actually really fucking scared about what people think of you, I realized that now. Especially your father.” After the words had left Louis’ mouth, he realized they were true.

Harry crossed his arms. “You don’t know anything about me and my father.”

That look on his face, a little hurt, a little unsure, a little defiant- it made Louis think of the way Harry’s eyes blanked out to zero when he wasn’t smiling or laughing and how that didn’t happen very often, because Harry was always laughing and smiling, even though Louis knew there was no way they could all be real. And it made him wonder if maybe they weren’t actually maybe a little bit alike. Behaving the way they did to get by, while hiding something inside of them that was a mystery even to themselves.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Louis muttered and turned back around, elbows propped on the step behind him. “But I know that you’re doing this whole thing because of him.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry corrected. “I’m doing this to _prove_ something to him.” Seeing Louis’ expression, he sighed and leaned back. “Whatever.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, a little unsure, “You’ll come along, too, won’t you? To New Year’s.”

A second passed, in which Louis turned it over in his head. Comfort or curiosity. Curiosity won out. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, nodding slowly. “I wouldn’t want to miss my chance at trying that disgusting shrimp.”

Harry laughed, and in that moment, this thing between them -this growing, strange, complicated thing Louis hadn’t even been fully aware existed but sometimes shimmered in the corners of his vision, sneaking up on him- that thing expanded, nudged Louis’ mind, and made him stretch out his hand and say, “Wanna start over? Friends, without anything before that.”

Harry glanced up, and shook his head slightly with a smile, then took Louis’ hand and shook it. “Friends.”

Louis looked at their hands, then at Harry. “I’m Louis, by the way.”

Harry’s dimple flickered on his cheek as he rolled his eyes and shook his head again. “I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Wanna be friends?”

The dimple deepened, his eyes solemn. “That would be lovely.”

“And I’ve never seen you naked,“ Louis added as he quickly dispersed his hand from Harry’s.

Harry kicked Louis’ shin with his foot and pulled the pink hat down so it covered half of Louis’ neck and his entire face. Louis laughed inside the pink, scratchy world of the knit hat and Harry laughed outside of it and they were friends. Quite simple, really.

-

The cold drove them to climb back into the house after another minute, and they were greeted with the sight of the others awake, sitting on the remnants of the couch, eating cereal. They had lit the candles on the askew Christmas tree, and were watching it in reverent silence as they munched on their breakfast. None of them had thought of getting presents for the others, but Niall justified it with being so busy getting Louis a birthday present and the others with being so caught up in rehearsals which was nothing but a bland lie. Louis didn’t have a justification, he had simply forgotten like the bad friend that he was. But no one really cared for the lack of gifts to unwrap because it was a nice day. There was snow, and a tree, and cereal. What more could one need on Christmas morning?

During a very passionate conversation about the best cereal brands, Liam got a phone call from the fire station, telling him that he had to come in today. Excited, Liam jumped up, sending milk and cereal flying everywhere, and threw over his jacket. “They need me at the fire station!” he yelled, face red with excitement.

“Was there a fire?” Harry asked, sitting up.

“No, I don’t think so,” Liam mused, snagging his keys from his room. He reappeared in the living room doorway, beaming. “But they need me there. Everyone else is unavailable.”

Zayn gave him a thumbs-up, grinning almost as brightly as Liam. “Good luck!”

Louis’ guess was that the ‘urgent work’ at the station was paperwork and everyone else simply didn’t want to work on Christmas day, so they sent Liam, but he bit back the comment. Liam was just too excited, and even paperwork probably couldn’t dampen his mood. Liam frequently described paperwork as ‘the scaffold that holds everything together’ and ‘the most important part of the job’. With one last excited, very un-Liam-like shriek, he hurried out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. Zayn stared at the spot he had just stood on with dreamy eyes, spoon hanging forgotten in the corner of his mouth.

“One would think firemen are a little bit more responsible,” Niall mused. “There are the most fires all year on Christmas.”

“Not in this town,” Louis replied, absently chewing.

“Liam could put them all out on his own,” Zayn said, almost in a sigh. This thing with him and Liam was getting ridiculous.

“Do you want us to light you on fire so he can put _you_ out?” Louis grinned. Zayn didn’t seem to hear him, probably too caught up in his daydreams about Liam saving him and his creepy cat from a burning building. Maybe shirtless and covered in fashionable specks of grime.

Louis leaned back with a grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this was such a messy chapter, I do apologize!! I'll try to not be as messy in the next chapters, I promise!
> 
> I hope you still had some fun while reading anyway and didn't roll your eyes too much... 
> 
> Hope you have a great day (or night)! <3


	10. Dark and Unfathomable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes home.

 

_Song(s):_

_"Point Me At Lost Islands" - Tired Pony_

_"Compass" - Zella Day_

 

 

Louis couldn’t feel his feet anymore. He blew hot air into his hands in an effort to warm them, but it didn’t help. Maybe someone should have given him mittens for his birthday.

Fuck, where was Niall, the idiot?

“Why do you have so many bags?” Liam, standing in the snow beside him, asked, eying the assortment of suitcases spread on the icy ground around Louis’ feet. “It’s just a few days.”

Louis only gave Liam’s suitcase (his only one as Louis had shockingly found out this morning) a kick with the tip of his shoe, making it tip backward into the snow.

“I hope you at least have another pair of shoes in one of those bags,” Liam said, unbothered, giving Louis’ black converse a meaningful glance.

Louis didn’t. He had forgotten to bring any other shoes. Not that he actually owned a pair that weren’t sneakers or any warmer.

“You don’t?” Liam said, exasperated.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

"You didn’t have to.”

“I’m sure Desmond Styles has a fucking heating system,” Louis gave back, stubbornly looking down the street, hoping to see Niall drive up so he could escape into some warmth.

Niall had gone to search for his car that he had forgotten the parking spot of. For almost a year now. That boy would one day drive Louis fucking mental.

“How can you forget where you parked your own car?!” he complained, but Liam only shrugged with a defeated expression.

He had given up on trying to find explanations for any of Louis’ or Niall’s behavior at this point. And Louis more and more got the feeling that he wasn’t actually that different from them. Or maybe it was just their bad influence, corrupting him to the dark side of major fuck-ups, and Sodom and Gomorrah.

As if on cue, a scruffy old red car pulled up beside them, one that should have fallen apart years ago. Niall’s halo of hair peaked out the driver’s window, the tip of his nose tinged pink from the cold, but he was brightly grinning, patting the side of the car affectionately. “Found it!” he exclaimed excitedly. “And it still sort of works. Good old Stevie. I knew I could rely on her.”

“Stevie as in Stevie Wonder or Stevie Nicks?” Liam asked, leaning down to inspect the dirty, old car.

“Nicks,” Niall replied proudly. “A real beauty, she really is. You can put your suitcases in the boot, and then get in before you freeze to death out there. Lou, are those really the only shoes you have?”

Louis rolled his eyes and reluctantly heaved his luggage into the tiny car boot. He could have sworn the car sank down a few inches at the added weight and let out a weak groan. This was the stupid couch all over again.

Liam and Louis both leaned down to examine the backseats, then lunged for the passenger side at the same time. The backseats of the car were covered with suspect stains and food crumps. Also, for some reason the safety bells were gone and none of them trusted the car enough not to be involved in some accident along the way.

“The passenger seat is only for people who’ve never fallen off a tree while secured, trying to save a squirrel,” Louis said with a sweet smile as he flung himself into the seat, quickly closing the seatbelt.

“Stop bringing that up,” Liam hissed, going a little red. “That was almost one week ago.”

“Pffff, that’s nothing. I’m still teasing Niall about the time he sang Irish folk songs at a student party to impress a girl he fancied. And that was three years ago.”

Niall leaned over to them and nodded. “It’s true. Where are Zayn and Harry, by the way?”

Liam shrugged and glanced at his watch. “They should be here soon.” His face lit up suddenly, and, peering out the window, Louis saw the reason for it slurping down the street in a giant red down jacket, holding a big piece of folded skin under his arm.

Not skin- a cat.

“Is that Mr. Whiskers?” Louis asked incredulously. “Ew.”

Liam punched his arm, glaring at him. “Don’t be so mean.”

Louis rubbed the spot where he had been hit. “Jesus Christ, sorry.”

“Not Jesus Christ. Just Zayn,” Zayn said, leaning down to peer through the open car window on the driver side.

“Nice cat,” Louis pressed out, attempting a sincere smile, nodding slightly.

“Thank you,” Zayn said earnestly, stroking the animal’s head.

“And… why exactly is it here?” Louis inquired, trying to sound casual. The thought of having to spend however many hours with that thing in the very close proximity of Niall’s tiny car gave his left eye a twitch. The four boys he considered his friends were challenge enough.

“I can’t leave her alone for that long. There’s no one else to take care of her. And she loves travelling.”

Louis eyed the cat which didn’t look loving or excited at the prospect of travels in the slightest. More like it might go on a murder spree at any minute.

“What are you doing in this car?” Zayn asked, looking around its interior with big, dark eyes.

“Well, we have to get there somehow, right?” Niall laughed.

“Oh, didn’t Harry tell you? We’re taking his car. The one his father gave him for his eighteenth birthday.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Stevie,” Niall objected, but the words died out on his tongue as his eyes widened a bit, staring through the window at the street.

“Stevie Wonder or Stevie Nicks?” Zayn asked.

“Nicks,” Liam replied, but his eyes flicked past Zayn’s just as Louis registered the quiet engine of an idling car.

He followed the gaze of the others, spotting a car on the street, its moon-white color almost melting together with the snow. “No offence, Niall,” he said reverently, “But I’d take this over Nicks any day. Wait, didn’t you say this was birthday present, Zayn?”

“Yeah. His eighteenth. He also got a few others but this one was always his favorite,” Zayn replied as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Louis looked back to the white old-timer. The car looked like it was straight out of a museum or a period-piece. Harry’s head appeared at the driver side, wearing sunglasses and a blue beanie. He waved with a wry smile and the others climbed out of Niall’s car, making their way over to him.

“Morning,” Harry greeted brightly while Louis carefully ran his hand over the white varnish of the bonnet. “So, are you getting in or not?” Harry asked over the soft beige leather of the steering wheel.

“Sorry mate, but I think we’ll have to leave Nicks behind,” Louis said to Niall and put his hand on his shoulder.

“She’ll be fine,” Niall replied, watching the soft-looking, clean leather of the seats.

They loaded all their luggage into the fancy car’s boot and got in the car. This time, Louis didn’t object to taking the backseat since that would mean Zayn and his cat taking the passenger seat. As far away from Louis as possible.

“Is everyone wearing their safety belt?” Harry asked with a look into the rear mirror.

“Yes, mum,” Louis replied but he gave a small smile into the mirror.

And with that, they were off, the black tires of the expensive car leaving traces in the snow.

“How far is it?” Liam asked, looking out the window.

“A few hours,” Harry replied, turning up the heat in the car.

The small houses whizzed past, and after a few minutes they were gone completely as they reached the motorway, the plaything town shrinking behind them.

“We could play some games,” Liam suggested after a few minutes of silence, only the cold wind brushing past the spotless windows and the sounds of other cars driving beside them to be heard.

A few rounds of _I spy with my little eye_ and _Packing my bags_ later, Liam had the other idea to prank-call people and sneak words into the conversation. Zayn called his sister and somehow managed to sneak the word Teradactor into the talk without her even questioning it. Zayn was weird like that and randomly dropping dinosaur names into a conversation without it sounding awkward was the exact sort of thing everyone was used to by him.

Harry called his mother whose voice sounded kind and warm over the speaker and looked through Harry almost at once. If Harry’s father was anything like Anne, this would be a much better weekend than Louis had anticipated.

“Your turn, Lou!” Niall laughed after Harry had hung up, his mother sending lots of wishes and kisses over the line till the very last moment.

“Okay, fine,” Louis sighed, but he was smiling. He unlocked his phone and started scrolling through his phone contacts, eyes closed.

“Stop,” Zayn called, and Louis’ thumb stopped scrolling. He opened his eyes to see which name his thumb had landed on.

Fizzy.

He cleared his throat. “I want to try again.”

“No,” Zayn laughed. “You have to pick the one you stopped on. That’s the rules.”

“I don’t care for the fucking rules,” Louis replied dryly and started scrolling again.

“Okay, stop,” Niall said after a few seconds. “Who is it now?”

Louis looked at the screen, then swallowed and locked his phone. “I don’t want to play. You can go on without me.”

A silence hung in the air for a moment, then Niall cleared his throat, and said, “Okay, then I’ll go on.”

Louis looked out the window, ignoring the lump in his throat as Niall reluctantly called an ex-girlfriend of his, her angry, almost hysteric voice cracking through the speaker.

For one second, his eyes met Harry’s in the rear mirror, before they flicked away again. He knew Harry was asking himself who the contact had been and why Louis was refusing to call them.

The name underneath his thumb had been Ben. Ben Winston, the director of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. The one who was responsible for Louis’ early successful career, the first director to cast him in one of his plays, giving him an opportunity most young, unexperienced actors only dreamed of. There was no way he would have just called him out of the blue now. There was no way he would ever want to speak with him again.

Thinking about it, there weren’t really any contacts in his phone that he would be okay with calling now.

A humorless laugh almost escaped him at the bleak thought.

“We’re almost there,” Harry announced from the front seat, ripping Louis away from the sticky, uncomfortable thoughts swimming in his brain.

He looked through the window, and his breath was taken away for a second as he took in the sight before him. The sea - cold and blue - stretching into the horizon, sharp waves and spindrift painting its surface. He hadn’t even noticed them driving alongside it, too occupied with self-pity and grief.

Niall leaned over him to get a better view. “Wow,” he breathed. “It’s beautiful here.”

Zayn anxiously stroked his cat’s wrinkly head as he stared over the waves. Louis remembered he couldn’t swim so he probably wasn’t the biggest fan of the ocean.

Harry’s fingers performed a nervous drum on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking back and forth between the street ahead the water. He seemed almost as nervous as Zayn.

He steered the car down a small hill, into a village even smaller than the one they had just come from. They passed a row of fishermen’s shops, fish-and-chips restaurants, and light-blue pubs with sardines painted on the signs swinging in the breeze above the doors. There was generally a whole damn lot of fish everywhere. The air also smelled of fish, mixed with the salty smell of the breeze and the cold smell of snow, as Louis discovered when Harry parked the car next to an opulent, golden hotel rising and watching above the village like a golden needle in a stack of toothpicks.

They got out of the car, immediately shivering at the cold. Louis looked up at the hotel that seemed so out of place. The name painted in golden letters above the rotating doors startled him, then the realization hit him like a snowball to the face.

 _Styles Hotels_.

Of course.

One of the most expensive, fancy five-star-hotels in the country. There weren’t a lot for no sane person could ever afford spending even half a night in one of them, but among the wealthy and shrimp-eating crowd they were the number one place to stay. And they belonged to Harry’s father.

To Harry.

The same Harry standing just a few paces away, wearing a dark blue beanie and leather boots with holes in them, talking to an old guy with a white beard.

“You can close your mouth again,” Zayn muttered from beside him, following Louis’ shocked eyes to the Hotel’s name. Mr. Whiskers was curled up in the bright red of his down jacket, blinking a lazy eye dismissively at the luxurious, empty hotel. Of course it was empty. Louis was not a business man, but even he knew that not a single person in this fishy-smelling light blue village could ever afford a night at the hotel.

“Sorry,” Louis said, closing his mouth. “I just… I never realized Harry’s father owned a hotel chain.”

Zayn’s brows elevated. “They are called Styles Hotels.”

In hindsight it did make sense. “I never put two and two together.”

“My parents work with him. They make towels. How did you think they made all their money?”

“I don’t know… shares? Finances? The Mafia? Selling paper, maybe? I don’t know. Hate to break it to you, but I don’t usually spend my free time pondering other people’s money and success. Especially not Desmond Styles’s.”

He turned around to Zayn, a bright spot of red in the blue, grey and white village and the sea behind. “Does he live here? Harry’s father.”

Zayn burst out a short laugh as if Louis had made a joke. Seeing Louis’ face, he stopped laughing. “No.” He pointed at the grey sea. “He lives over there.”

Louis followed his finger and spotted a few scattered islands, green specks on blue-grey water. “Oh.”

At that moment, Harry turned around with a bright smile, his arm draped around the old man’s shoulder. “This is Ernie, an old friend of mine. He’ll take us over.”

“For free?” Louis asked incredulously, earning him strange looks from everyone. “What did I say now?” Louis whispered to Zayn.

“Ernie works for Desmond. It’s his job to take him and his guests to and from shore.”

“Oh. Yeah. _‘Course_. How did I not think of that?” Louis muttered to himself as he gripped his bags and half-carried, half-dragged them through the snow after the others.

Five minutes later, his back was sweaty despite the cold, his feet soaked and numb, and his clothes were covered in snow from slipping on the ice multiple times. “Why can’t they also have staff for carrying the guest’s luggage?” he muttered under his breath.

Liam turned around to him, his bag easily slung over one shoulder.

“Nothing,” Louis hissed, dragging his suitcase further. “I was just saying how much I’m enjoying this wonderful walking-tour.”

Liam tilted his head to the side. “Do you want me to help you with that?”

“No thank you,” Louis replied snippily just as they (luckily, thankfully, mercifully, FINALLY) reached a small jetty, a row of shabby fisher boats drifting on the water. A row of fisher boats and a bright white boat with the words _Styles Hotels_  in golden letters written on the side. Louis was guessing this was their ride.

Ernie helped them heave their luggage into the boat while Zayn produced an orange life jacket from his suitcase and pulled it over his already quite life-jacket-looking anorak.

“Careful or you’ll float away,” Niall grinned, poking the life jacket.

“Okay, let’s go,” Harry, already sitting at the front of the boat, said. He had taken off his beanie and was now kneading the material with his knuckles while looking over the water.

The others carefully poised their way into the erratic, unsteady boat, gripping the railing and seats as if their lives depended on it. Zayn was the last to hop on, even less graceful than the others with Mr. Whiskers still curled in his arms, hissing viciously at the water. Liam gripped his arm before Zayn and the cat could tip into the water, and helped him cross the small chasm that seemed much larger than it actually was. Zayn looked at Liam as if his fantasy about Liam saving him from a burning building had just come true, and even better than he could have dreamed of.

Louis glanced at Harry whose gaze was still fixed on some spot over the water, absently chewing his bottom lip. Ernie started up the engine and the boat cleaved its way through the waves, spray splashing into the air around them.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Niall muttered and gripped the bench even tighter. His nose had turned a bit green.

Zayn squinted his eyes closed, gripping the life jacket around his shoulders and his cat as if his life depended on it. Which it potentially did.

As much as the others were struggling with the means of transport, Harry seemed to enjoy it. Or at least he was used to it. He sat at the far end of the boat, eyes closed, the salty wind tangling up his curls, slashing it around his head as if underwater. Louis noticed that he had gone more and more silent the longer they had been travelling- the closer they got to his home. Even though Louis somehow doubted that’s what Harry would call it.

The boat steered toward the biggest of the islands, and for the second time that day, Louis’ breath was taken away. As they rounded the rocky side of the island, a house came into view. Even though ‘House’ wasn’t the right word for it. Louis had thought the Malik manor was giant and luxurious, but this made Zayn’s family’s home seem like a shabby cabin. The ‘House’ was enormous, with more windows than one could count, walls painted in a soft buttery yellow, almost gold.

It looked like an old manor straight out of a thick classic about high balls attended by the English nobility, and horseback-riding. Maybe also vampires.

The thing had fucking towers and spindles, for fuck’s sake!

Louis even spotted an orchard, and a golf course next to it. And there were statues in the garden. Who had life-sized stone statues in their garden?!

Harry Styles, that was who.

“Is that your house?” Louis yelled over the wind.

Harry either couldn’t hear him or he chose not to.

Zayn was the one who answered his question. “Mate, that’s his island.”

Louis blinked, trying to process this information. “You-“ His voice sounded raspy, and he quickly cleared his throat. “You mean this entire island,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the large piece of land. “Belongs to Harry?”

“Harry’s father, but yes,” Zayn nodded soberly.

“O-Okay. Sure.” Why not? Why not just buy an island? Jesus Christ!

The boat made its way to a small landing stage at the shore, and with unsteady feet they all climbed onto the planks. Louis noticed that there wasn’t any snow on the island. Apparently the rich didn’t even need to confine to the standards of weather or climate. He didn’t question it any further.

Louis craned his neck to look at the dazzling, gigantic beast of a house above them. He internally prepared himself for another hike up to the house with his luggage dragging behind him, but then he spotted a car snaking its way down to them. A large champagne-colored VW, _Styles Hotels_ again written in ornamental letters across the side. The windows were darkened as if the car was transporting a famous rock-star, and not a group of young men colored various shades of green from the trip over the sea, one of them still wearing a bright life jacket, and a grumpy, naked cat.

Determinedly, Harry walked up to the car and started chatting to the driver like he was an old friend. Which he probably actually was. Louis had to remind himself time and time again Harry had known all these people his entire life; that he had grown up here. Here and probably everywhere else around the world. Something told Louis that this was not Desmond Style’s only place for living.

And then there also was his mum. Divorced from Desmond, now lived in the small-town Holmes Chapel with his sister. What Louis did not know yet was where Harry spent more of his time.

Liam interrupted his thoughts when he grabbed one of Louis’ bags and helped the driver heave it into the large car. Louis blinked and put the rest of his luggage in himself, then fell into one of the seats at the back of the car. There was an actual TV in here. And a deep freezer.

The others climbed in behind him, stretching out their legs on the clean floor. The driver, separated by a black screen, set the car in motion and Louis peered out the window to see them snaking their way up to the large house with its lush, green gardens, now covered in protective layers against the cold. Statues and hedges lined the way of the ascend until they reached a pair of large ebony doors and the car stopped in front of a large fountain.

“Welcome,” Harry said solemnly and passed through the car door the driver was opening for him. The others followed, craning their necks as they stared up at the dazzling, gigantic mansion with the roiling blue-grey sea stretching out behind it.

They entered the house through the large doors, revealing a grand hall with checkered marble tiles and a sweeping staircase leading into the house’s innards. A few people dressed in old-fashioned staff uniforms took their luggage and carried it up the staircase. Harry greeted them all one by one with a smile so bright and polished as every surface in this place was.

There was nothing indicating that someone actually lived here and it wasn’t merely a house designed to be photographed for a shiny home-depo catalogue. The thought of having to grow up here gave Louis the chills.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Harry said and lead the way up the staircase and down a long corridor, ebony tables with vases everywhere Louis looked. The rooms were all in a row, in one of the many corridors forming a complicated maze, and they all looked like rooms in a five-star hotel.

Harry left them to unpack, and retreated to some other part of the house, probably his old room. Louis wondered if his room was as impersonal and clinical as the rest of the house.

Louis’ assortment of bags was already waiting in his room, neatly stacked in front of the wardrobe. He didn’t bother unpacking since they would only stay for one week-end and he knew exactly the room would inevitably end up in a mess of his stuff no matter what he did.

He flipped through the channels on TV for a while, then stared out the window over the golf pitch and orchard, and then at the ceiling as he lounged on the soft bed, limbs spread out like a starfish. He peered at his phone: Seven o’clock. Still half an hour to beat until dinner, as Harry had told them. Right?

How was he supposed to get through another 28 minutes?! His stomach growled loudly in protest.

He scrambled off the soft cloudiness of the mattress and left the room, then knocked at the door next to it, not knowing exactly who was in it.

Zayn’s head peeked through the gap. “Oh, it’s you,” he said when he saw Louis and opened the door a bit wider, disappearing into his room. Louis followed him. “No need to sound so disappointed. I’m hungry as fuck- Holy shit.” He stopped dead in his tracks, laughter bubbling up from his chest. “Are you wearing a tie?”

He leaned against the wall as he watched Zayn trying and failing to affix the tie around his collar. The collar of… his suit? Louis stood upright slowly, something horrible dawning on him.

Zayn glanced at him in the mirror. “Dinner is in a few minutes,” he said, unravelling the knot once more.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Louis replied, mortified.

“Why are you wearing tracksuits and a sweatshirt?”

Louis peered down at his attire. “Well, I was going to change into a pair of jeans…”

“But you did bring a suit, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Louis answered proudly, straightening his back.

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“Because it’s fucking dinner, not a highball from a Jane Austen book!”

Zayn shrugged, finally getting the proper knot right and proudly regarded his lopsided work in the mirror. “Okay, fine.”

At that moment, the door was ripped open and Niall appeared in the room. To Louis’ horror, he was wearing a suit as well. Grey, a bit too small and a bit crinkly, but a suit nonetheless. Shit.

“Hey lads! We need to get going, don’t want to be late for the fancy-ass-“ He was cut off by a loud laugh erupting from his throat when he spotted Louis in his crinkled tracksuit and socks. “Nice outfit, Lou.”

Louis glared at him. “I didn’t know I had to wear a suit for dinner! I’ll go get changed now.” He made to dart back to his room, but Liam appeared In Zayn’s doorway and Louis collided with his chest. “Ouch! Fuck!” he cursed, rubbing his aching, possibly-broken nose. “Stop doing so much exercise! It’s becoming a health risk for everyone around you.”

Liam only laughed, then abruptly stopped as he saw Louis’ outfit. “What are you wearing? Am I too early? I thought dinner was at seven fifteen.”

“No, you’re not too early,” Niall answered from behind Louis. “This may come as a surprise, but Louis’ the one who got the time wrong.”

Louis rolled his eyes and ducked under Liam’s arm propped on the doorframe to race to his room and get changed into something more appropriate, but he nearly collided with another body.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he burst out, then slowly looked up, the color draining from his face. Because he knew the stern man glaring at him with cold green eyes, had seen him once before on a pixeled photograph on the screen of his laptop.

Desmond Styles.

One second passed, then another, both of them staring at each other, Desmond angry, Louis too shocked to apologize, speak, or even breathe. Louis was vaguely aware of Liam, Niall and Zayn standing behind him, watching this entire disaster unfold.

Then, Desmond’s entire expression seemed to switch as swift and easy as if he was putting on a mask, and a smile stretched his lips as he extended a hand. “You must be my son’s guests. And you must be Louis Tomlinson. I’ve heard of your work.” At those words, his eyes seemed to glint a bit as if he was only thinking of the end of Louis’ work, and not of acting at all. “I’m Desmond Styles, owner of _Styles Hotels_.”

Louis blinked, then quickly took Desmond’s extended hand and shook it. “Yes, I think that information couldn’t be missed on the way here.” The words slipped out before Louis could stop them and he nearly bit a hole through his tongue after he realized he had actually said them.

Before Desmond could reply anything, the lucky interruption in form of Harry Styles hurried down the corridor, wearing a chic, neat, black suit. He didn’t look anything like the boy with the beanie, big sweater, worn-out boots and unruly curls from just that morning.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted his father, dressed in an elegant suit, and Louis, dressed in tracksuit bottoms and an oversized grey hoodie, facing each other.

“Oh.” He stared at them for one second, then regained his composure and a bright smile appeared on his face as he strode over the rest of the way. “So you’ve already met. You already knew Zayn, of course,” Harry said to his father, then turned to the others. “And this is Liam, Niall… and Louis.”

Louis could have imagined it, but was that a suppressed smile on Harry’s lips when he pointed at Louis and his attire? Almost something akin to fondness, maybe.

Just second-hand embarrassment for Louis’ lack of manners, probably.

“I was just about to go get changed,” Louis tried, but Desmond spoke before him. “Show your guests down to the dinner room, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry nodded hastily and lead the way down the corridor toward the sweeping staircase. Louis considered his options: Quickly going back to his room, change and then catch up with the other later; pretend to be sick and spend the evening in his room, watching boring TV programs; flee from this place and take his chances swimming ashore without freezing to death or drowning; or staying in his current clothes and sitting at the dinner table like a porcupine fish in an aquarium with shimmering gold fish.

All of those solutions didn’t sound ideal.

In the end, Niall made the choice for him when he hurried back to the spot Louis seemed to be glued on and dragged him down the stairs by the arm.

Fish-option it was, then.

Louis didn’t know whether he should laugh or scream.

He went for the third option which was silently following Niall down the elegant marble staircase, down another corridor, and into a room, a large dining table set with plates, sparkling glasses and appetizers smacked in its middle. The others were already sitting at the table, Desmond at the head of it, a blond woman dressed from head-to-toe in beige next to him. Louis guessed this was his new wife.

Gingerly, he sat down on the chair between Niall and Zayn, trying the best he could to not look as out of place as he was feeling. He couldn’t believe people actually lived like this. It all seemed like straight out of a completely different century.

His stomach growled loudly, and he bit his lip, hoping no one else had heard it. But the universe just wasn’t kind to him today (ha, as if it ever was), and when he looked up, he saw the entire table was looking at him. Again, there was that suppressed laughter in Harry’s face and this time even more obvious. Desmond’s wife wrinkled her nose disapprovingly.

“Are you hungry?” Desmond asked, august.

“Yes, a bit,” Louis said, moving his lips in a way that he hoped approximated a smile. It required exhausting and complicated muscle coordination. Nearly as hard as smiling had been in the months after his mother’s death and the… accident.

And with some sudden understanding, he realized that this is the first time since he had joined the theatre group that smiling was a real challenge. The thought made him look to Harry, something small tickling his insides. Something like gratefulness, maybe. For not giving up on him, for forcing him to join that stupid thing.

Because Louis realized right now, sitting in tracksuit bottoms at a shrimp-laden table, that these last few months… he had been happy. For the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Well, then I won’t speak on for too long,” Desmond said, raising his glass. “But I wanted to welcome you all here. Any of my son’s friends are always welcome here or in any of our hotels, _Styles Hotels_. And we hope that you will enjoy the party tomorrow.”

The others all raised their glasses filled with wine, and then then took sips from it. An actual waiter appeared at the table and took the lid from the big silver meal in the middle of the table.

Louis nearly snorted into his glass when he saw what was beneath it. Shrimp. So much shrimp. His eyes met Harry’s over the meal, and Harry raised his brow as if to say _See? Told you so_. Louis shook his head, laughing quietly.

“What’s so amusing, Mr. Tomlinson?” This came from the woman sitting at Desmond’s side, her mouth pinched.

Louis stopped laughing at once. He felt like a little kid scolded by its teacher on the first day of school. But that had never bothered him, and it wouldn’t start to now.

“Oh, nothing. I just find the sight of food hilarious for some reason. It’s a strange condition. Runs in the family.”

Across the table, Harry snorted. Desmond shot him a glare. Father of the year material, definitely.

Niall interrupted the awkward silence following by starting to lad his plate with the fancy fish food. One after one, everyone helped themselves to some dinner. Louis didn’t even know what half of the things artfully decorating the table were supposed to be, so he simply chose anything that looked like it was edible and not made of plastic.

Desmond’s wife started telling them all about the New Year’s party for tomorrow; how many people were coming (the number made Louis nearly choke on a piece of whatever-it-was-he-was-eating), the decoration, the food, the drinks… Louis shut off at some point.

Eventually, she ran out of the sheer endless things about the party and Desmond started speaking, almost making Louis wish his wife had kept on listing every single item on the agenda for the night ahead. “So, how is it going with that… play of yours, then?” he asked, taking a sip from his shiny yellow wine.

The boys looked at each other, no one wanting to be the one to answer the question. With a quiet sigh, Louis sacrificed himself because there really wasn’t any way he could embarrass himself even more than he already had, was there? After all, he was the boy in tracksuit bottoms who had cursed at Desmond Styles when he had almost run him over.

“It’s going great,” he said around the piece of shrimp in his mouth. “It’s a lot of fun and everyone’s working really hard to make up for our lack in technical advancement. I think it’ll turn out quite good.”

Harry gave him a thankful smile, but Louis didn’t know exactly what he was thankful for. For Louis not saying anything bad about the play? Whatever it was, it made Louis add a, “And your son is really talented, if I may say so. He’s a great Tink.”

Desmond looked up from his knife and fork, brows elevated. “Tink?” he repeated. “As in Tinkerbell? The play you’re performing is _Peter Pan_?”

Oops. Louis wanted to smash his head against the elegant table. Of course Harry hadn’t told Desmond what play they were performing. Desmond looked at Harry whose ears had tinged pink. “And you’re playing… Tinkerbell?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “The play is great! Louis and Niall wrote the script and the songs, and-“

“The songs?” His step-mother repeated unbelievingly. “It’s a musical?”

She and Desmond threw each other meaningful glances, and Desmond dabbed nonexistent stains from the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “So it’s an amateur musical directed by an unknown, and you, Harry, are playing a magical fairy in it?” He laughed a little. “I was really hoping to be surprised, but this really is not what I was expecting. Or maybe it’s exactly what I was expecting.”

There was silence around the table, Harry and the others staring at their plates as if they were ashamed. Louis looked around, trying to push down the anger rising in his chest. Who did Desmond Styles think he was?!

Before he could stop himself, he burst out, “Excuse me, but you don’t have any right to sound like that. You don’t have any right to water down the hard work that everyone is putting into this play just because you don’t like what it’s about. And maybe you’re right, it’s a little bit silly and very, very amateur-like, I know what I’m talking about. But that doesn’t mean anyone gets to sneer down at it just because they don’t get it. And yes, your son plays a sparkling, singing, stubborn fairy but you know what? He’s fucking great at it. All of them are. It’s their passion and just because you don’t approve of it doesn’t mean it’s not brilliant. Which it’s not, just to be clear. But it’s… it’s- it’s better than anything I have ever done and certainly too good for you to speak to us or about the play like that.”

Not a great finish, he had to admit.

There was a stunned silence in the room, and everyone was staring at Louis, their faces a wide arsenal of expressions. Louis carefully set down his knife and fork, then pushed back his chair, making a painful screeching sound on the polished floor. He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on a spotless spot on the spotless table. “Thanks for dinner, but I think I’ll go to bed now.”

Slowly, he got up and left the room, aware of all the eyes boring into his inappropriately dressed back. In the doorframe he paused and turned around with as much dignity as one could have after not once, but twice, being a tad too honest to their host. “The shrimps were lovely, by the way.”

With that, he twisted on his heel and strode out of the room, keeping his head high. As soon as he was outside, he knocked his forehead against the nearest wall. Fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he for once behave human? And why did he care so much? It was just a stupid party for people who didn’t know anything more important and he was only here because… because why? Why was he even here? And since when was he so stupidly defensive over the amateur theatre?

Too many questions, too little blankets to hide under.

Time to change that. He made his way up the golden staircase and back through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors to his room.

After a while of watching mindless TV and trying to build a wall of pillows and blankets between him and the rest of the world, there was a knock on the door and Niall’s head appeared in the opening door crack. “What do you want?” Louis mumbled from behind his rampart of feathers and soft linen, a bag of crisps in his hand. Real dinner, right there.

“Just wanted to say how brilliant you were tonight, Tommo.”

Louis’ head peeked up, mouth full of crisps. “Are you insane? There was nothing brilliant about any of what happened today. It was a trainwreck. I dropped one clanger after the other. Fucking mortifying. And that was just the first night.”

Niall grinned one of his million-watt grins. “Then we have quite the evening ahead of us tomorrow, I suppose.”

Louis dropped back onto the mattress, into his nest of crisp crumbs and embarrassment.

“I think it’s great what you did. You’ve always been protective like that. Nice to see that side of you again.”

Louis didn’t respond, only closed his eyes and tried to block out everything. It did not work very well.

“Good night, Lou,” Niall said unusually quietly and then closed the door behind him. Louis looked at the closed door for a moment, then got off the bed and retrieved a cigarette and a lighter from his pockets.

He opened the glass door to the small balcony and stepped out into the crisp air, flicking the lighter, cigarette poised between his lips. One try, two tries, three- His eyes fell to the small abandoned stretch of beach a little away from the house, black rocks scattered on the golden sand, melting together with the black of the night.

His fingers slowly faltered on the lighter and fell to the balcony railing as his eyes caught on a figure sitting on one of those toothy rocks on the beach, curls tangling in the salty, light breeze. Moonlight stroke the rippling water beyond, stars scattered over the black sky like silver sequins.

His eyes flickered back to the lighter in his hand, then, with a whispered sigh, he plucked the cigarette from his lips. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had retreated back into the house and left the room.

-

Harry watched the dance of the black waves, legs pulled up to his chest on the small rock, when he saw someone crossing the sand out of the corner of his eye. Someone with black Adidas tracksuit bottoms and an oversized hoodie, hands stuffed into its pockets.

Louis sat down beside him without saying a word. Harry didn’t, either. He watched Louis looking over the water and the vast canvas of stars above it.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said eventually, quiet as the lapping waves on the sand.

“Please don’t be,” Harry replied, resting his chin on his knee. “It was great, what you said about the play - about us. I was hoping someone would. Someone has to tell him what they really think sometimes. That used to be my mother or sister’s job.”

“And why don’t you?”

Harry didn’t answer. Louis didn’t press for him to. “Is your sister coming tomorrow?”

Harry shook his head, chin wobbling on his knee. “She hasn’t come here since my mother left. She hates him.”

“Wonder why,” Louis said quietly. Then, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I guess I don’t know a lot about great fathers anyway. Mine is the best there is, if you like them absent and an asshole. Left me and me mum before she had even left the hospital. I must have been a really ugly baby for him to run like that.” He offered a weak laugh for his joke but it fell off his face too quickly for it to be real.

“I’m sorry, Louis.”

“Don’t be.”

The waves idly crept over the sand, trying to reach their feet, then fell back again. Rise and fall, rise and fall. Rise and fall, frequent as a pulse.

The heartbeat of the world.

The sound of Louis’ voice fitted perfectly to the lapping of soft water on rough sand, molding itself to accentuate its shape. “Do you remember the first time you went to the theatre?”

Harry smiled a little. A faded memory flashed through his mind of his mother holding his tiny, chubby hand, leading him up red velvet stairs and through a door to a large and venerable room. “I do. It was after she had left my father and took me and my sister to London. I can’t remember the play, and of course I didn’t understand any of it, but it was the best thing I had ever seen. My sister was bored out of her mind and eventually fell asleep in my mother’s lap, but I fought to stay awake for the entire thing. It was… It felt like magic.”

It took a moment for him to realize that Louis had slightly leaned back on the rock and was watching him, a tiny smile hovering on the edges of his mouth.

Harry licked his lips. They tasted like salt. Louis’ probably did, too. He averted his eyes from the small flicker of a smile and stared ahead over the beach again. “Can you? Remember it, I mean.”

Louis shrugged. “Probably a student play in school. I can just remember wanting to join the theatre group, and then I did. But the first time I saw a real play and a real theatre was when I was sixteen. As you can probably guess, the was no proper fancy theatre in Doncaster, so I took the bus every single day after school for three hours to the nearest town with a decent theatre and got a job as ticket clerk and then secretly sneaked in during the performance. Eventually I got fired for it, but it didn’t matter anymore. At that point, I had seen enough to know what it was I wanted. And then I moved to London on a whim.”

Harry glanced back at him. “What’s it like? Being in a real production. A professional one.”

“Stressful. And hard work. And doubt. Everything has to be perfect, every light, every prop. There are so many people no one sees that the whole play is a giant beast, full of organs and cells and everything has to be oiled and running. But then, the moment when the curtain opens for the first time, it’s all worth it. That moment, when all the hard work pays off and it’s not you standing on stage but your role - You’re right: That’s magic.”

Harry looked over at Louis and Louis looked over at him and Harry smiled and then so did Louis, _truly_ smiled, in a way that brightened his blue eyes. Harry noticed that those smiles had become more frequent. A smile almost without shadows. Almost.

The cold sent a small shiver over Harry’s skin and he hugged his arms to his chest in an attempt to warm himself. The sleeves of Louis’ hoodie were pulled over his hands, one of those things Harry noticed Louis did so frequently he didn’t even think about it anymore, his body doing the movement all on its own. “We should go back inside,” Harry said, averting his eyes from the pulled-down sleeve ends. “It’s getting cold.”

Louis nodded and they made their way away from the ocean, toward the large, looming house through the orchard. They passed the largest tree and Harry stopped abruptly next to it, laying his hand on the rough dark bark. “This was Gemma’s favorite tree. She would always climb up here and watch over the island for hours and hours while I brought her provisions and she would throw down a few apples for me in return.” He smiled faintly at the memory of being struck by apples raining down, Gemma giggling high up in the branches.

Louis craned his neck to look up to the bare branches splitting the night sky. “And you never climbed up?”

Harry shook his head. “Dad didn’t want us to.”

A mischievous grin spread on Louis’ face, trouble etched into every little crinkle and nook. Before Harry could stop him or even register what was happening, Louis had started climbing the tree, gripping one of the branches for leverage.

“Wait!” Harry called quietly behind him. “What are you doing?”

Louis paused on a high limb and turned back to him, breathless. “Get your bony ass up here, Curly!”

“I can’t climb that!” Harry protested, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis sat down on the dough, crossing his dangling feet at the ankles. „Yes, you can. You can do anything if you really want to.“

Eventually, Harry gave up trying to stare Louis back to the ground and sighed, then tried climbing the tree a few times, always slipping and falling back down. He let out a frustrated scream.

Louis had started laughing from his position in the tree branches high above the ground.

„Stop laughing at me!“ Harry yelled.

Louis did not. Determined, Harry gripped the stem like he was trying to hug it and hooked his legs around it, making him look like a strange koala. Using this awkward clutching method and frog-like leg pushes, he managed to slowly get up the trunk, scraping his face along the way.

He was aware that he looked absolutely ridiculous. And so was Louis apparently, who had completely lost it now. He was shaking with laughter, sweater hand covering his mouth, eyes forming crescents behind his fingers. „That’s your own special way of flying, Tinkerbell!“ he managed to chuckle between loud laughter.

Harry really wanted to be angry, so he shot Louis a mad glance, but he had to admit it really was funny, the way he clung to the tree like an oversized barnacle and at some point he couldn’t hold in the laughter anymore as well, wild giggles escaping his throat.

When he had reached the branch Louis was sitting on, his hands were sweaty and grazed and he was breathing heavily. Louis extended his hand towards him, offering his help. Harry gratefully took it, Louis hoisting him up so they were now both standing on the branch, high above the ground.

„Wow, you really are as graceful as a fairy, Curly,“ Louis smiled.

„Oh, shut up!“ But he couldn’t help but laugh. It really did feel like flying up here, with Louis by his side, the ground far below. His stomach felt like he was soaring through the air, the wind blowing all of his problems away like fallen leaves.

Harry carefully lowered himself beside Louis, tightly gripping the branch. Their laughter slowly ebbed off, scattering in the air like sporadic, stray snowflakes and they settled into comfortable silence as they admired the shimmering lights of the stars reflecting on the water. The moon moved in and out behind clouds, dancing in step with the distant lapping of the waves.

Harry leaned his back against the tree trunk, the bark faintly rubbing against his back. “Does he die?” he asked quietly.

It was a question that had been haunting him since the first time he had read the script. He knew Louis didn’t need a clarification as to who was meant, but Harry still added, “Peter. Does he die at the end?”

He glanced at Louis’ profile. Louis didn’t reply at once, his eyes trained on the moon hovering far above them in the sky. Then, when Harry was starting to doubt he would say anything at all: “I don’t know.”

For a second, his eyes flicked to Harry, meeting his. His eyes were sad and bottomless. “I really have absolutely no idea.”

“I like to think he lives,” said Harry.

“Then he does,” replied Louis and looked back over the ocean stretching out in front of them, dark and unfathomable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, thanks again for reading! :)) Means a lot to me...
> 
> I'm really excited to share the next chapter with you, it's one of my personal faves. Writing it was so much fun!!
> 
> Anyway, thank you and I hope you have a great day/night! <3


	11. Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Styles, everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, short disclaimer (!!!): 
> 
> There are mentions of self-harm in this chapter, so if that's something that affects you or you're uncomfortable with, then proceed with caution or sit this one out. Just be aware of that :)
> 
> Oh, and another disclaimer: Severe corniness and way too many bad metaphors ahead!!! 
> 
> Alright? 
> 
> Alright. 
> 
> Let's do this.

 

_Song(s):_

_"Old Money" - Lana del Rey_

_"On Hold" - Fenne Lily_

 

Louis lifted his eyes from his cuff links to look at himself in the mirror.

The black suit made his skin look paler than it actually was, he hadn’t thought of bringing a tie, and the sleeves were a little too short for his arms, his ankles peeking out from the too-short trouser cuffs. He was also very very aware of the way the suit strained over his backside. This came to no surprise since it was the only suit he owned and he had bought it for his mother’s funeral which had stitched tears and misery into every fiber, and had been at a time in which he had without doubt been too thin and pale for the suit to still properly fit now.

With a sigh, he smoothed out the crinkled black material, his armor for the night ahead.

He was late.

From somewhere below him, he could hear the clinking of glasses and bright voices accompanying the smooth tones of classical music.

“Hey, Tommo!” Niall said in that moment as he blew through the door. “Hurry up! We’re late as fu- Wow.” He stopped abruptly, staring at Louis’ reflection in the mirror. “You look… really nice. Did you shave?”

Louis batted Niall’s curious finger away from his freshly shaven cheek. “No.” 

The door opened again and Liam entered the room, then Zayn. “You look good, Louis,” Zayn stated matter-of-factly.

“Thanks,” Louis replied, turning away from the mirror.

“Where’s your tie?” asked Liam.

“Don’t have one.”

“Hold on,” Niall called as he raced toward his room. After a few seconds, he returned with a baby-blue tie in his hand, presenting it to Louis proudly. “Tadaaa.”

Louis regarded it dubiously. “Did that come with your nan’s couch or did you steal it from a museum?”

Niall sighed and held up the tie to Louis’ collar. “It brings out your eyes.”

From across the room, Zayn giggled quietly.

“Fine,” Louis said and grabbed the tie from Niall’s hand.

“I am so tired of your constant wardrobe malfunctions,” Liam said as Louis knotted the tie.

Niall had stepped up to the balcony and was leaning over the railing. “Wow. I guess this is quite the party we have found ourselves in.”

The others joined him at the railing, leaning forward to see what he was looking at. The sweeping circular driveway was a puzzle game of various expensive vehicles and a seemingly endless string of people were making their way up the stairs to join the festivities.

“Never thought I would one day spend my New Year’s Eve like this,” Louis muttered.

They turned back to the door as one, then left the balcony. “Down we go,” Niall said grandly as he pushed open the door.

The others followed him down the corridor and the staircase, right into the heart of the party as glittering and golden as a Klimt painting.

Everywhere were faces Louis had seen in newspapers and on television. Peacocks flouncing and strutting about, the sharp golden lights reflecting on their sparkling drinks and feathers.

Louis and the others all accepted a glass of sparkly champagne from a waiter discreetly bustling around the big room. None of them spoke a word as they watched the glamour around them: the movie stars, rock singers, politicians, businessmen and models, all here to celebrate another year of camera flashes, money, and pools so bright you had to squint against them. And in some other universe, Louis might have belonged here.

The thought made him take a big swig from his glass.

Nothing in here felt real but himself and the boys beside him. Everyone and everything else in this room was made of plastic, pearls and marble. He felt pasted on, sticking to something he didn’t belong on, a debris, a dark spot on a golden painting.

A scene on stage, the room a painted canvas, the champagne flutes nothing but requisites, that’s what it felt like. Louis was sure the lights would go out soon, and everyone would hurry away, making room for the next actors. Everyone was smiling, he noticed. He wondered how many of those smiles were real.

“Oh, I see you’ve found your way downstairs,” a voice behind the boys said suddenly, making them all spin around, startled. Louis nearly spilled his drink over the light blue tie Niall had given him when he saw who it was. Desmond, a few people by his side. More specifically, some politician from a political party Louis faintly recognized from the paper, a young blonde woman Louis recognized as a model-turned-actress from the latest big action-blockbuster, and the lead singer of a popular boyband Louis’ sisters were absolutely obsessed with.

Louis had always told them he was gay, but now his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the guy’s eyes lavishly travel over the tight suit clinging to Louis’ every curve. Louis nearly dribbled champagne over his chin.

“May I introduce you,” Desmond continued. “This is Zayn Malik, Yaser’s son.”

Zayn smiled faintly. The people nodded understandably at the words and the blonde model flashed Zayn a smile almost as bright as her dress. The light of the chandeliers on the ceiling reflected on her glossy lips.

“This…” Desmond gestured to Niall and Liam. “This is-“

“Niall,” Niall grinned when it became obvious that Desmond did not remember their names. “Niall Horan. No further titles. And this is my friend Liam Payne.” He pointed at Liam and shook the people’s hands as if this were something he did every day. It probably was, just a little less… dapper.

Desmond opened his mouth to introduce Louis, but in that moment, a middle-aged woman appeared at his side, stealing the words before he could say them. “Louis Tomlinson,” she murmured solemnly. Louis recognized her as a news speaker on TV. “I’ve seen your plays,” she said, shaking his hand. “Magnificent work, I must say.”

Louis avoided her intense eyes. “Thank you very much.” This was horrible. It hadn’t even occurred to him until now that people may recognize him here. Apparently he had underestimated the power of theatre and how many people were interested in it still.

“Sorry, but should I know you?” the fit singer asked, furrowing his brows with a winning lopsided smile.

Lord have mercy on him.

“I- um, I…,” he stuttered. Niall giggled into his hand beside him and Louis shot him a deadly glare. “No, you shouldn’t know me,” he managed to get out finally. “You really should not. Nooo. Nope.”

Niall giggled harder. From the corner of his eye, Louis saw him sucking in his lips to try to stifle the laughter.

“You’re not into theater then, are you?” the news woman asked the singer, pursing her lips.

“He was proper famous, our Louis,” Liam piped up, glad to be able to add something to the conversation.

Louis was not sure which urge was stronger now: to smack Niall or to smack Liam. Tough choice.

“Before he-“

Liam it was, then.

Louis heavily stepped on his foot. “Ouch!” Liam exclaimed. “What was that for- Oh. Sorry.”

Louis’ eyes caught on something over Liam’s shoulder.

Harry was standing at the far end of the room, surrounded by a flock of people, all staring at him admiringly. He was handing out laughs like sweets, shining as bright as the moon on the black night sky. It hit Louis suddenly that whatever ‘star-quality’ really was, Harry Styles had it by the bucket load.

People’s gazes were dragged to him like moths to a flame and he was a flame burning more brightly than any other.

At that moment, Harry looked up and caught Louis’ gaze from across the room. They looked at each other for one moment, Louis smiling faintly. Harry raised his hand and waved, just a little. It was a gesture so unlike everything else about him in that moment, so familiar and extraneous to this room, these people. It made Louis’ smile ache a little on his lips.

Harry broke free of his group of admirers and made his way over. Heads turned as he passed, drawn to this boy in his dark gold checkered suit that made him look as if he’d just climbed out of an oil painting or an old, dusty romance novel.

His chocolate-colored hair curled freely and lusciously over his shoulders, and for once, all the buttons of his black chemise were done-up, somehow only adding to the glamourous mystery.

It was hard for Louis’ mind to connect this elegant boy in his buttery molten brown-gold suit to the boy on the fire escape Christmas morning, barefoot and cozied in a large, loose sweater; the one at rehearsals wearing faded vintage band T-shirts and a dotted bandana holding back the curls from falling in his eyes.

“Harry!” the model slash actress behind Louis shrieked when she saw Harry making his way toward them and extended her arms. Something in Harry’s eyes seemed to shift as he reached them, a curtain closing over what was behind them.

“Amber!” he exclaimed brightly, embracing her. “You look radiant this evening.”

The woman, Amber, gave him a sensual, calm smile, blushing under the powder on her cheeks. Harry greeted the other people in the small circle, giving out kisses on cheeks and firm handshakes, then turned to Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn. “Having fun?” he asked. It did not sound as if he was, but his smile was bullet-proof.

Louis and the other boys nodded with various stages of determination. “Totally,” Louis offered weakly.

The girl was still clinging to Harry’s arm who had his arm loosely slung around her waist. It seemed as if they were very comfortable and familiar with each other. Then again, that’s what Harry seemed to be like with every single female in that room.

“Harry, you have to go say hi to Taylor!” Amber exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, leaning closer to him. Her nose was brushing his jawline.

Harry’s brows seemed to furrow just slightly. “Taylor's here?”

Amber grabbed his hand and pulled him away from them without further words. Without turning around, Harry was swallowed up by the glittering crowd.

“Taylor?” Niall inquired, taking another glass of champagne from a nearby tray, pronouncing the question mark on Louis’ forehead.

“A close friend of his,” Desmond replied with a tight smile.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” the news woman said, inspecting her nails with a gossipy flashing of the teeth. The question-mark did not shrink in the slightest. As if she were seeing it painted on Louis’ skin, the woman went on, “Rumour has it those two would make quite the pair.”

“She’s a lovely girl,” Harry’s father confirmed. “A good influence.” His eyes shortly flashed to Louis and his friends. “Harry could need that at the moment.”

“Anyway,” the older woman said, looking up from her red claws. Her eyes darted to Louis. “Mr. Tomlinson! I need to introduce you to a few people.” She grabbed Louis’ arm and hooked hers through it. “I’ve always said you should star in movies. I say: _Hollywood_! That’s where you belong!” She jammed a finger at Louis’ chest. “Theatre is a dying world. Always has been. No future there. But Hollywood-“ She rubbed two of her fingers against each other. “That’s where the gold is. And actors who’ve dabbled in drugs are totally sought after at the moment. Just imagine the news story: ‘Young actor’s big Hollywood comeback after fight against addiction.’”

Louis opened his mouth to protest and inform her that he wasn’t interested in Hollywood movies and also that he wasn’t a drug addict, but she was already babbling on, dragging him to a group of older, grey men that looked distinctively like movie producers.

Louis shot a panicked look of help over his shoulder at Niall, Liam and Zayn, but they just shrugged and took sips of their golden champagne. Louis made a face at them. _Traitors! False friends!_ _Turncoats!_

The minutes ticked by slowly as Louis was introduced to every single movie-related person at the party, pushed and dragged from circles of grey executives to circles of glittering actors; a never-ending spiral around the room. He kept glancing at the big clock counting the hours until midnight, but the hands seemed to have fallen asleep, dragging themselves lazily and mockingly along the numbers.

Sometimes he caught glances of Niall, Liam or Zayn; a strand of raven-black hair here, a loud Irish laugh there. Eventually, he excused himself to the bathroom even though he hadn’t had nearly enough drinks for an evening like this.

Hastily, he freed himself from the grip of a woman hanging on his arm and fled the loud room, then leaned against a wall, breathing in and out slowly. He needed a moment of quiet, a moment not filled with bright laughter and even brighter clothes.

With heavy legs, he made his way up the staircase and through the seemingly senseless order of the corridors. He felt dizzy and blurred, as if all the breath and sparkling glasses on the floor below him had crept into his skin and dragged his cells out in strange ways. He stumbled and steadied himself with a palm pressed against the wall.

Looking around, he realized that he had gone the wrong way to his room. He turned to walk back down the corridor when suddenly, he froze.

There were voices, coming muffled from behind a door at his side. Familiar voices, one grey and stern, one like molten bitter-chocolate. Harry and his father.

“Why are you up here?” Desmond asked. “Why are you up here in your room and not down at the party? You know how important it is to make connections, so you can-“

Harry interrupted him. Quietly, he said, “Dad, I don’t want to become a lawyer.” Louis heard him sigh shakily. “You know that.”

“Then don’t. There are many options for you. You could take over the business.”

Harry loosed another shallow breath. “You know what I want to do.”

As if Desmond hadn’t heard him, he said, “We should go back now. It’s not polite for the host of a party to not attend. Taylor is waiting for you. It’s rude enough for you to leave her down there alone and disappearing into your room.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Harry replied bitterly. “She has lots of people to talk to.”

“But _you_ should talk to her. You’ve always been such good friends, and I think it would be great if you-“

“God, Dad!” Harry voice rose.

Louis leaned against the wall. He knew he shouldn’t be listening but it was too late for him to go back now. He seemed glued to the spot.

“I don’t want to be with her! I don’t love her- not like that. All those people- I don’t want to be like them.” The following words were almost a whisper, and Louis had to lean closer to the door to hear them. “I don’t want to be like you, Dad.”

Desmond lost a short, flat laugh. “But let me guess, you want to be like those friends of yours, right?” The words ‘friends’ was almost spat, as if he had meant to say another word altogether but had decided at the very last second to change it. “You’re not like them, Harry. You’re not. As much as you run around pretending to be, you still belong here. Do you really think they would ever accept you as one of them? Even if you made it in that world, became an actor. Everyone would still think that I made that happen, and you know that.”

“Yes, I know that!” Harry yelled. There were tears in his voice.

Louis registered that his hand was curled into a loose fist at his side.

“Of course I know that! And that’s why I had to leave. To at least try.” His voice cracked slightly. “I had to try.”

“And I’m fine with that,” Desmond replied, his voice reined in again. “But you know what happens when someone flies too close to the sun.”

Louis could feel anger welling up inside him. Who did Desmond Styles think he was?!

Suddenly, the door opened and Louis jumped, trying to look as if he had just arrived. Desmond was standing in the corridor. When he saw Louis before him, his mouth tightened.

Louis just stood there, dumbfounded. Then, he realized he was blocking Desmond’s way and quickly took a step to the side to let him through. Desmond gave him a short, hard nod and disappeared down the hallway, not deigning to speak to Louis any further. If he knew Louis had been eavesdropping, he didn’t show it.

Louis was just about to head back down to the party, already a few paces along the corridor, when he turned around again hesitantly.

There was a noise coming from the closed door Harry was behind. The distinct, quiet noise of suppressed crying. Shaky, deep intakes of breath, snuffling… Harry Styles was crying.

And Louis could hear everything.

He took a few slow steps toward the closed door. Without thinking, Louis’ hand lifted, reaching for the door handle. It was as if a magnet was pulling his skin and bones toward the golden knob, as if gravity had shifted direction and Louis’ fingers were falling toward the noise.

Louis’ fingers hovered in the air, inches from touching it - and then the thoughts started up again and his hand froze mid-air.

Then, hesitantly, he dropped it again, pulling away from the door.

He took a strangely sharp breath and retreated down the corridor, fingers curled at his sides. His hands felt cold and clammy. But this was none of his business.

He hurried down the stairs quickly, ignoring the insistent tug in the back of his mind. _None of his business. None of his business. None of his business._

Back in the large ballroom or whatever this hall was meant for, he melted back into the crowd, not sure exactly what he was looking for.

In that moment, he was startled by a voice behind him. “Hi.” Louis turned around, blinking at the realization as to who was behind him.

It was the blond boyband member with teeth as white and straight as the cast of a teen rom-com. And he was talking to him. HIM, Louis William Tomlinson.

He, Louis William Tomlinson, was being talked to by the biggest heartthrob of the country.

And not only that, he was also being smiled at, one of those smiles that looked so photoshopped you weren’t sure if the person the smile belonged to was an actual inhabitant of planet earth.

Pretty boy singer pushed his shimmering hair back, running it through his fingers like molten gold. Louis stared, then cleared his throat and accepted another flute of champagne from a faceless serving tray. “Hi,” he said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“We've met before,” pretty boy singer said, smirking.

Smirking. Dimples. Crying. Louis knocked back the champagne.

He elevated his brows, feigning nescience. As if he could have forgotten to have met THE singer of the century. Sure. His sisters only talked about him seven days of the week, every day, every hour. Had talked. He didn’t know if they still did. Because he didn’t know them anymore.

He grabbed another flute of champagne.

“So, I was thinking if maybe… maybe you wanted to have dinner with me sometime, or… there’s this party soon. It’s kind of ridiculous, hosted by that girl… that actress, maybe you’ve seen some of her movies… She was nominated for an Oscar this year- Anyway, I…” He loosed a small laugh. “I’m totally babbling, aren’t I? I’m sorry, it’s just… You’re just… your suit is quite tight.” Louis glanced down at his unfitting suit, blushing. “And you, you seem really nice and cool, and I guess I’m a bit nervous.”

Louis’ eyes roved the room over Pretty Singer Boy’s shoulder. Part of him was totally going insane at the moment, nerves turning into wicks, making his insides explode like too-early fireworks, but the other half wasn’t even listening. Because was that… did he just spot a flash of dark gold suit there in the corner?

But here, right now, THIS BOY was being nervous about talking to him and it was everything any teenage girl (and boy) was dreaming of every night.

“We would have to be discreet, though,” pretty boy continued. He lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one heard his next words. “The public can’t know I’m gay. My management wouldn’t like that. Officially, I’m dating someone else.” Dimples flashed on his cheek. “Sorry, I’m talking as if you’ve already said yes, which you haven’t. I just really hope you will, Louis. In fact, you haven’t said anything yet and I’m starting to get kinda nervous here.”

Louis forced his eyes back to the good-looking face before him. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his shoulders. “You were saying?”

Pretty boy singer turned around, searching for what Louis had been so distracted with. “Are you looking for someone?” he inquired, glancing around the room. He turned back to Louis, nervously biting his lip. Louis could see the dents his teeth made in the soft skin of his lip. “Are you here with anyone? If that’s the case, I’m really sorry.”

“No!” Louis protested quickly. “God, no! I’m sorry.”

The boy loosed a relieved breath. “Well, that's good.” He leaned over to Louis, his words and breath tickling Louis’ ear. “Here’s my room key and my number. Just come over whenever you feel like it, or if you’re… occupied tonight then just give me a call.”

Louis’ fingers closed over the card, shoving it in some pocket of his tight suit. Pretty boy singer leaned back again, his voice back to pleasant small talk. “So, where are you from, Louis?” His words sounded polished and brightened like the room around them.

Louis opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes caught sight of something at the far end of the hall. This time he was sure of it: A dark golden suit and dark hair.

“Excuse me,” he said without looking at his conversational partner and pushed past him through the crowd. Distantly, he was aware of what he was doing; if his sisters knew that he had turned down THIS BOY they would never speak a word with him again.

Through shining hair and over broad shoulders, he saw Harry making his way through the room toward a glass door in the corner leading to a stone patio. The light was bouncing off his golden suit.

Louis shimmied after him through the crowd, the room smoky and busy and full of money. He reached the patio doors, obscured by light curtains drifting in the distant breeze. He stepped over the threshold - and paused.

There was noise, as distinct a noise as crying was. Kissing.

Quickly, Louis retreated back into the smoky room, but not without stealing a glimpse at the scene in front of him. Harry and a blonde girl, the moonlight washing their hair to silver halos.

Louis turned back to the room, ready to pretend this had never happened, when the girl hurried from the balcony, rushing past Louis without looking at him. Louis’ eyes followed her stride through the room to a flock of young people. Why did everyone here seem to know each other?

“Louis?” He looked back to the glass door. Harry was standing on the step, one hand poised on the frame.

Louis shoved his hands into the tight pockets of his suit and mustered up a small smile. “Hey. What are you doing out there? Who was that girl?” He tried to sound chipper; as if he hadn’t seen anything. But ‘Chipper’ and ‘Louis Tomlinson’ was neither a very fitting nor a very convincing match.

Harry didn’t seem to notice, though. “That was Taylor,” he said, looking at her across the room. “She was- We were together… once.”

“Ah.” Louis nodded.

“She wants to get back together, so she-“ He hesitated slightly. “She kissed me.”

Louis tried to summon up a facial expression as if this were new information to him. “And you?” he asked lightly. “Do you want to get back together with her? She’s very pretty.”

“My father wants me to.”

Louis looked up at him quietly. “That wasn’t an answer to my question.”

Harry took a step outside to the terrace, not replying. Louis read the prompt in the gesture and followed him onto the stone terrace. The salty wind from the sea softly ruffled his hair. The moon hung full and silver in the sky, making the clouds around it blush silver.

“Why?” Louis asked, leaning over to poise his elbows on the stone railing. Harry copied his gesture. Their shoulders bumped against each other every-so-slightly.

“Why what?”

“Why do you care so much about what your father thinks or wants? It’s your life, Curly.”

Harry hesitated before he said slowly, “When my mother left him, he had nothing anymore; not his wife, not his daughter, and… and I wanted him to have something. So I stayed. I wanted to make up for everything he had lost.” It was hard for Louis to imagine describing so much money and a private island as nothing, but it wasn’t hard at all to imagine Harry doing the noble thing nonetheless.

Still, Louis couldn’t help but feel as if there was more to it, something Harry wasn’t saying.

“But you’re not happy here, are you?” He pointed vaguely at the glass doors behind them, leading to the excited crowd counting down the minutes until midnight.

Harry smiled ruefully, and for a moment, Louis was scared he might shut off, drawing the curtains behind his eyes and switch over to flippant, glossy Harry; the one marked by this elegant, dazzling world of champagne and jewelry and glittering bright swimming pools. But in the end, he just said, “I don’t know.”

There was a pause, filled with the distant ringing of silverware and glasses. Someone laughed, high and delighted. At that moment, the voices outside stopped being lone threads, and instead joined each other, counting down the last seconds until midnight as one big, swelling chorus of excitement, hopes and dreams.

Harry glanced at Louis, face full, but Louis didn’t know of what. With Harry, he never knew.

“We should go back inside.” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper, swallowed up by the dark of the night. Then he moved away, pushing off the cool, rough stone railing, and his presence was replaced by cool air.

Louis turned around, leaning slightly against the railing, hands loosely placed on the stone. “Harry?”

Harry turned back to him. The golden light glancing from the room behind him made his curls and features seem cherubic.

“Why am I here?” Louis sighed. “Why am I really here?”

The voices became louder, more thronging and pestering. “I-“ Harry started, but seeing the look on Louis’ face, he sighed. “I thought that maybe if you were here, people would see you and maybe realize that you’re still as talented as you were before and maybe…" He chewed lightly on his bottom lip. "I think you should start acting again, Louis. Real acting. You deserve a second chance, and I thought maybe this could give it to you.” He looked at the ground, avoiding Louis’ eyes. “And I thought maybe you would see that you deserve a second chance, too. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re fully aware of that.”

Louis nodded, something lodged in his throat. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Really. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Harry glanced up at him, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. “But?”

“No but. Thank you for trying to help me, even after everything that’s happened between us.”

Harry smiled, miniscule. “That’s what friends do.”

Inside, the counting became louder and louder, swelling like an inflating balloon.

_Ten!_

_Nine!_

_Eight!_

Someone peeked their head through the glass door and the softly billowing curtains. It was the girl Harry had talked - flirted - with before. The actress slash model. “There you are, Harry!” she called excitedly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Quick, come in before the countdown’s over.” She grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him with her toward the chorus of voices.

Harry lingered for one second though and turned back to Louis.

“ _Four… three… two… one!_ ”

Behind Harry, Louis saw confetti and paper streamers rain down from the ceiling. Horns and blowers rang out, accompanied by the excited shrieks of congratulations and joy from the people.

“I guess that means Happy New Year, Curly,” Louis said, smiling across the distance between them.

Harry opened his mouth, but the girl came back to tug impatiently at his arm. The spell was broken. “Happy New Year, Lou.” His voice was back to that distant, polite tone he used for other people.

Until that moment Louis hadn’t even noticed Harry had a different voice for him, but he did – A warm, teasing voice that sounded as if the laughter surely to ensue was already braced in his tummy, ready to tumble out.

A voice that drifted in the air, and sometimes made the words spoken shimmer at the edges of Louis’ vision. A warm, teasing shimmer. _Lou._

Harry and the girl disappeared into the crowd. The orchestra took up with _‘Auld Lang Syne’_ , everyone drunkenly chanting and warbling along to the tune that was so familiar. Louis remembered Christmas Eve when they had watched _When Harry met Sally_  together, Harry silently mouthing along to Billy Crystal’s famous New Year’s Eve monologue.

_“For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne.”_

Louis stepped back into the smoky, floating room, the crowd around him dripping with jewelry and alcohol and laughter. By now, the younger people were drunk and out of their mind dancing, while the older people were also drunk, eyeing the younger people jealously while tied to their age and having to make proper conversation. People were hugging and kissing and cheering and drinking, catching the blurry golden, smoky air on their tongues.

In that moment, it seemed hard to imagine this glittering world having dark sides to it, things stuffed into drawers and cupboards so they wouldn’t derange the perfect golden imagine painted all around Louis now.

He saw Niall across the room, laughing with a brunette girl. Their mouths were close, closer, and then they were kissing, the way only kisses on New Year’s Ever were: excited, and warm, and buzzy, and not very thought-through, but full of possibilities and luck and bliss.

Next to them, Zayn and Liam were throwing paper streamers at each other. At first, Louis had the urge to walk up to Liam and give him a smack on the back of his head for not using this golden opportunity to finally kiss Zayn, learning a lesson from Niall, but upon seeing Zayn’s uncharacteristic carefree giggles when Liam tangled a particularly long streamer around him, Louis resigned himself to a quiet smile.

_“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet for the sake of auld lang syne.”_

“Hey! You!” Louis turned and saw a boy pointing at him, an alcoholic blush on his cheeks and forehead.

Louis pointed at himself. “Me?” he mouthed.

The boy nodded excitedly and waved him over. Hesitantly, Louis stepped to the small group in midst of which the boy was standing. The boy smiled at him. “Would you be my New Year’s kiss?”

Louis stared at him. “What?”

“Come on.” The boy wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s tradition.”

Louis looked him over. He didn’t look too bad and Louis was feeling woozy and smudged. Plus, bad decisions had sort of become his trademark. “Alright.”

One delighted grin, and then the unknown boy pulled Louis toward his chest and put their lips on each other. It didn’t last very long and wasn’t very lifechanging, but it was good enough.

“Thanks,” the boy grinned, releasing Louis’ lips and arm.

Louis gave him a tight smile, turned around - and saw Harry standing a few paces from him. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” Harry said with a tight smile. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Louis glanced back at the boy, now back to dancing and hollering with his friends. “You didn’t.”

“I just - I wanted…” There was something in Harry’s eyes then, a hidden face Louis had never seen, wasn’t sure anyone had ever seen. A glimpse of an intent and agonized Harry that didn’t fit in his surroundings. His lips were swollen and pink, making Louis think he wasn’t the only one who had gotten himself a midnight kiss.

“Tommo!” Someone clapped on Louis’ shoulder, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor.

“Payno,” Louis said, a little breathless. “Looking for a New Year’s kiss? Well, too bad, I already got one.”

Liam shortly glanced from Louis to Harry, raising a brow. When Louis realized what that eyebrow meant, he hastily spew out, “God, no! It was some bloke from back there,” pointing over his shoulder at the throng of youth the boy had vanished in.

“Oh, alright,” Liam laughed. “Would have been weird, you two.”

“Yeah, totally,” Louis replied, returning Liam’s laugh.

“And what about you?” Liam asked, looking up to Harry, but Harry was not there anymore. “Oh.” Liam peered around the room. “Where’d he go?”

Louis’ brows furrowed. “No idea.” He thought of Harry’s face just before Liam had showed up, as if he was about to crack open like glass with fine lines, ready to splinter. What had that look meant? Why did he suddenly have the feeling there was more to Harry and his life than Louis had first realized?

“Come on,” Liam said and pulled him through the crowd toward Niall and Zayn. “We’ve been looking for you, by the way.”

“Tommooo,” Niall shouted when he saw Louis and Liam steering in his direction. His arms lifted and wrapped around Louis, warm and bright like his laugh. “Happy New Year.” For one second, Louis let himself relax and closed his eyes, bathing in the warmth of Niall’s embrace. It had been a very long time since he let himself be hugged like this, even though Niall had tried.

But things felt different now, somehow. Even though Harry’s face still drifted in his mind like the moon reflecting on the ocean surface. Niall seemed to realize now that Louis would not wind out of his arms this time and Louis could hear him take a short breath. It was just a moment, but it was more than Louis had thought he would ever allow himself again. The fog in his chest had lifted just that bit, revealing a warm, beating heart beneath it.

Another arm slung around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him down and away from Louis who quickly took a step back, adjusting his fringe and brain. The girl who had pulled Niall away was the one Louis had seen him kissing before, and now again.

“I need to check up on Mr. Whiskers,” Zayn contemplated beside him. “He doesn’t like fireworks and they’re about to start.”

Louis followed his worried gaze to the mass of people snaking through the large doors outside. “Oh, yay! Fireworks!” the girl around Niall’s neck shrieked excitedly and steered him to the doors. Liam walked after them and Louis saw Zayn’s eyes following him longingly.

“You know what, I’m really tired anyway,” Louis said. He had been looking for an excuse to get out of this intoxicating room, to some quiet place where his thoughts weren’t smudged and drowned out by music, colours, fizzy champagne, and sparkling chandeliers. His body and mind felt tired and strained as if he had been running for miles without moving a muscle. “I can go up and stay with Mr. Whiskers,” he proposed.

Even the thought of spending New Year’s Eve with a grumpy, evil cat instead of a barrel of alcohol didn’t faze him at the moment. Proof that he had been exchanged with some alien version of himself, clearly. But he only knew that he needed to get out of there.

Zayn considered Louis’ suggestion for a moment, but then Liam turned back to them, a wide grin on his face, the chandelier turning his light brown hair to shimmering dark honey, and Zayn left with a quick, distracted nod somewhere in Louis’ direction, following Liam through the doors.

Louis lingered on the spot for a moment, then left the hall and climbed up the grand staircase to Zayn’s room.

Mr. Whiskers lay on Zayn’s bed, his big marble eyes glaring at Louis through the darkness. “Happy New Year’s to you, too,” Louis muttered and picked the cat up with stiff fingers. A glance at the balcony doors told him that the fireworks had already begun.

Vivid technicolors were lighting up the night sky, reflecting Louis and the cat in his arms on the windowpanes. For a moment Louis stared at his flickering reflection, then turned on his heel and marched to his own room, collapsing on the bed almost instantly.

The cat jumped away from him, curling up on the duvet as far away from Louis as possible. “Fine. Be impolite. Thanks,” Louis told it ironically, to which the cat only gave him a lazy twitch of the tail. It also probably would have flipped Louis off if it were human or had a middle finger.

“Right back at you,” Louis said flatly and flipped it off, too, then stuck out his tongue at the cat. “Ha. At least I have a middle finger.” He felt stupid for speaking to a cat, but he just felt stupid and used-up in general at the moment.

He got up and lumbered over to the balcony, watching the exploding fireworks drowning out the light of the moon. “I see you,” he told the moon and brought his forehead to the cold windowpane, making the stirring and whirring thoughts behind it slow down and freeze. "I see you," he said again.

Had he really had that much to drink? Maybe he had gotten drunk on the air in the room downstairs; air full of money and secrets. And now he was talking to the moon. That was how far down it had gone for him.

With a sigh, he peeled the skin of his forehead off the glass and the bright explosions of joy and colour behind it, then changed into his sleeping clothes; a loose shirt and a pair of black pajama bottoms.

“Hey, you’ll have to share. It’s my bed after all,” he told Mr. Whiskers and slipped under the covers. His eyes closed, but no matter what he did and tried, sleep wouldn’t come, despite the heaviness weighing down his limbs.

In his veins and chest, there was a buzzing feeling; a restlessness, making him turn over again and again until Mr. Whiskers angrily growled at him, saying _Go to sleep, you fucker_. _I’ve had enough of your bullshit._

“What?” Louis sighed. “Don’t tell me you need your beauty sleep. I’m afraid that won’t help you much, lad.” The cat scowled at him and Louis turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Sorry,” he muttered. "That was mean." Even the ceiling in this place was unnaturally polished and clean.

He glanced at his phone screen. Almost three am. Outside, the fireworks kept exploding like virulently blooming flowers, seemingly unending. The ceiling changed color depending on it.

Eventually, Louis accepted defeat and clawed his way out from under the blanket and to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he told the cat. “Not that you care.”

Quietly, he walked to the door on bare feet and cracked it open, a sliver of golden light spilling onto the carpet of his room. He slipped out into the corridor and looked around. What was he even doing here? But it was as if his feet were carrying him all on their own, without him able to stop them. They steered him through the corridors, the beige carpet swallowing up the sound of his naked feet. It was like in a video game where the path was chosen for the player, only one way to go without any objections.

Far below him, the party raged on, the sounds muffled by the carpet and his breath. Then, he stopped. There it was: The destination he hadn’t even known about. The door was closed, the handle gleaming in the soft light. God, he was so stupid. He wasn’t even sure if Harry was actually here. Maybe he was still downstairs, kissing people and drinking champagne and making fireworks explode.

“Tommo, you dumb moron,” he quietly muttered to himself, turning back. Why was he even here? It was stupid. That look of Harry’s face had simply been liquor mixed with the adrenaline of kisses, nothing more. Nothing more.

He was about to round the corner, when quietly, behind him - a small creaking sound. The sound of a door being cracked open.

“Louis?”

Louis turned back. And there was Harry, standing in the frame of a door slightly opened. He looked nothing like the boy in the glamorous, elegant suit; all polished out and gleaming. This Harry looked rumpled and sleepy, like a little boy. But now he was here, smiling, his hair flopping and unruly, his navy blue shirt with faded white print looking conspicuously worn. “What are you doing here?”

“I-“ Louis stammered.

Shit.

What _was_ he doing here?

“I needed to use the bathroom.”

Harry’s brows creased. “Don’t you have one with your room?”

Good job, Tommo.

“Yeah… But I also couldn’t sleep and wanted to, you know… stretch my legs. What about you? Why aren’t you downstairs celebrating?”

Harry shrugged, dimple flickering lightly on his cheek. “I was tired. But now I can’t sleep.”

“Well…” Louis said, returning the light shrug. “Good night.” He gave Harry a small smile, then made to leave.

After a few steps, Harry’s voice made him turn back. “Louis?”

“Yeah?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, murky green eyes nervously glancing from Louis to the carpet. “Could you…” One of his hands was loosely placed around the door, fingernail scraping the painted wood. He had taken off his rings, making his fingers look naked and pale and vulnerable. “Could you stay?” And there it was again, that naked look in his eyes, all pretense stripped away.

Louis, not sure if he had heard correctly, lingered in the hallway, blinking at the boy before him. This was not what he had been expecting. But strangely, it wasn’t fully unwelcome. He knew Harry didn’t mean the question in a flirtatious way; it wasn’t an invitation to sleep with him. Far from that.

“Yeah… sure.”

Harry smiled at him, and Louis softly smiled back. The door opened a bit wider, and Louis slipped inside, taking in the room behind. He nearly laughed out loud when he saw how much ... Harry it was.

“What?” Harry frowned at him, seeing Louis’ suppressed grin.

“Nothing,” Louis laughed. “It’s just… I should have expected your room to look like this.”

Harry crossed his arms, the smile mixed with a scowl that was reserved for Louis teasing him crossing his face. “Like what?”

“Like having a glass full of bird feathers, for example,” Louis replied, pointing at a small jar full of shimmering feathers. 

"Those are peacock feathers,” Harry explained, offended. “Oscar Wilde had them in his room as well.”

This side of the house didn’t face the firework spectacle and it was dim, streaked with soft moonlight. Louis’ eyes drifted through the surprisingly small quarters. The walls were covered in vintage band posters and quotes from songs, poems, and books.

Scruffy, very much read books were stacked in the corner, next to a collection of neatly sorted music discs, the old-fashioned matching record player on the table beside them. There was an abundance of small, kitschy snow globes, the small fake flakes swirling in their glass cages and slowly falling to its ground, revealing photos stuck behind them. One of the pictures showed Harry and a girl with dark blonde hair hugging and laughing, making faces at the camera, their tongues stuck out. The girl had Harry’s eyebrows and nose. His sister, then.

Louis took a few steps into the room’s center, stopping beside a tall globe stand. He gave the world a spin, trailing a finger over its carved surface. His eyes closed, waiting for the globe to stop spinning.

He felt the world pausing under his finger pad and cracked one eye open, looking at the spot his finger had stopped on. Harry leaned down beside him, inspecting Louis’ fingertip. Louis hadn’t even heard him approach.

“London,” Harry informed him and turned to him with a quiet smile, brows raised.

Louis quickly pulled back his finger as if it had been burned. “Huh. I don’t know if I should believe you.”

Harry shrugged. “You don’t have to. But I firmly believe it’s a sign.”

“A sign of the times maybe,” Louis said flatly.

Harry reached out a hand to spin the globe. “My turn.”

Louis leaned closer to the globe, the tip of his nose almost brushing the Atlantic Ocean as it whizzed past.

“So? What is it?” Harry asked, eyes still closed. Louis glanced to the side, to Harry’s hand, his bare arm - and froze.

There, faint and pale, turned to slivers of silver by the moonlight filling the room… scars. Small, barely recognizable if not for the moonlight illuminating them, streaks across Harry’s arm-bed. Louis looked up at Harry, looking so young and so vulnerable in the dim light.

“So?” he asked, expectantly. “Louis?” His eyes opened with a sigh. “What, you’re not going to tell me?” He doubled over, not registering Louis staring at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. “The Pacific,” he grumbled, clearly not happy with his result, and dropped his arm to his side again as if he was aware of Louis’ eyes caught on it.

“The Pacific’s not bad,” Louis said in a somewhat tangled voice. “Become a sailor or summat.”

Harry yawned. “Or a dolphin.” He flopped down lightly on the bed, face first.

Louis, unsure what to do or say or how to think clearly, watched him. He looked so young in this light, just a little boy. The thought made Louis’ insides clamp and stick together like dough, the scars on Harry’s skin still burning brightly in his brain.

Harry turned his head resting on the mattress to look at Louis. “Would you maybe… sleep here?” His voice was back to that quiet, cautious thing, completely unlike the boy complimenting people at the party, making them blush and worship him. “I just… don’t want to be alone tonight. If you want to, I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis interrupted him and stepped to the bed. Beside it on the nightstand was an old-fashioned, black rotary telephone, completely in keeping with Harry’s love of the bizarre and barely functional. Because maybe they reminded him of himself. Louis quickly pushed the thought aside and carefully sank down on the mattress. Neither one of them made an effort to lift the blanket. The room didn’t seem cold and the air blanket enough.

Harry rolled onto his back, both of them now staring at the darkness covering the ceiling. “You look radiant tonight, by the way,” Louis said with exaggerated curtesy, quoting Harry’s words to the model from earlier that night.

Harry giggled into the air. “It’s what they like to hear,” he defended himself. “And it’s polite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis replied, deliberately not looking at Harry and his skin. “I was just saying how good that old greasy T-Shirt looks on you.”

“Heeey,” Harry exclaimed weakly. “I love this shirt and it’s not greasy at all.”

It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Harry Styles didn’t wear greasy things. Louis did.

Silence settled in the air, the weak moonlight seemingly retreating from the room, dunking the world in complete dark. Now Louis dared a glance at the boy beside him, his profile silhouetted against the bedroom wall. Louis wasn’t sure if he was already asleep, but he quietly whispered into the night, not sure if he wanted Harry to hear the words or not. “Are you all right, Curly?”

Harry did hear. Louis saw him glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

Louis exhaled slowly, filling up the entire room with his breath. “I mean your arm.”

“Oh.” This time, the silence weighed heavy, daring to compress Louis under it. “I don’t do it anymore,” Harry said quietly, the words bottomless and bleak. “I used to. When… it all became too much and I became too little.” Louis watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, ears strained every bit of the way to listen. “I just sometimes feel empty, you know? Drained. Stripped of my purpose. Like an empty swimming pool.”

Louis felt him turning his head to him. “It probably sounds stupid now.” It didn’t sound stupid to Louis; feeling like an empty swimming pool, and maybe those scars were meant to prove to himself that he wasn’t empty and there was still something inside of him.

It did not sound stupid to Louis for he knew that feeling of feeling so hollowed out by loss and grief that you felt as if the wind could blow right through you. “Is it because of your father?” Louis asked bitterly, feeling his fingers curl in the duvet. “Did he make you feel this way?”

“No,” Harry reassured quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly. “It’s just… his world. My world. Sometimes, I had to do it.”

It was a long while before Louis spoke again. He wasn’t sure if mere seconds had passed or entire minutes; time seemed to have lost all sense of meaning. “You know,” he said. “It’s okay that you’re not okay. Everything’s okay.”

In the dark, Harry reached out a pinkie finger and Louis felt it sliding around his own, warm and sure, feeling like the smallest of promises and the biggest of understandings.

They stayed like that for a minute, in a pinkie swear, until Harry’s impossibly deep voice said, “What do you do? When you feel like you can't do it anymore?”

Louis opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn’t the right person to ask this question to, that he had no idea and was a huge fucking mess… but he didn’t. The warm chill of Harry’s little finger around his made him keep quiet.

“I dunno… I guess I just hold on, even when it’s impossible. Just hold on to whatever it is that keeps you fighting, makes you get up in the morning.”

Louis didn’t say that he wasn’t sure what that was for him; that for a very long time, he hadn’t gotten up in the morning, until one day, he had. “Anger, hope… Get myself through the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that one. Just hoping- hoping that someday maybe that pain in your chest will ease – just a little - and make room for other feelings again. And… I think it has, for me. Maybe a little.”

It was true, whatever it had been – being on stage again, writing a script, time – it had eased the compression on Louis’ lungs. “Make it worth the pain.” God, where did all these words come from? Maybe from the same space the script had come from that had been overbuilt and cemented with something else, but now that cement had a hole, letting things slip from that deep place and right to Louis’ fingers and lips.

As if he wanted to return something for Louis’ words, Harry smiled at him through the darkness between them, but his smile was slippery and started to fall off his face while the words left his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded, betraying how tired he was. “I have to tell you something, Louis. I was selfish. Helping you wasn’t the only reason I wanted you and the others to come here with me.”

His voice was dragged out, sleep gripping the words and pulling them down. “It’s just… sometimes, all of this, it can make you feel like a balloon about to lift off and vanish and get lost. But you, all of you, Niall and Liam and Zayn and you, Louis - that mix – when I’m with you I feel like I’m being anchored. In a good way. It doesn’t feel like I’m about to reach an oxygen-less area and pop. I thought maybe having you here would stop me from bursting. Keep me where the oxygen is." Then, after a pause, "You’re real.”

Normally, Louis would have replied something witty and teasing, like ‘Wow, you really do go overboard with those metaphors, don’t you?’, but this didn’t feel normal, so he just breathed, “That’s what friends do,” watching Harry’s eyes drift closed and his smile firm up a little, then fully fall off his face when sleep seized him.

“Good night, Louis,” he mumbled into his pillow before. His little finger went slack around Louis’, who lay on his back, one arm behind his head. Harry’s breath beside him was like the ocean tide washing over the beach. The rise and fall of waves. Rise and fall, rise and fall. Rise and fall.

And suddenly, things didn’t feel so complicated anymore. Words spoken out loud tended to do that, like a weight lifted, clouds drifting past to give the moon space.

Louis fell asleep to the sound of the ocean outside the window and the sound of the ocean beside him, and for once, drifting off and letting go was surprisingly easy.

-

When Louis awoke the next morning, Harry was already gone, nothing indicating his former presence on the bed but the crinkled sheets he had left behind.

Louis rolled on his side, scowling at the bright light streaming in from the windows. His eyes fell to the old-fashioned, mint colored grandpa clock beside Harry’s bed and he rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn’t imagining things or still asleep. The hand was pointing at four pm. Now, Louis was not a morning person and, if it could be avoided in any way, did not get up before noon, but this was an extreme even for him. In two hours, they would leave; go back home.

Groaning, Louis rolled back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. The door was flung open, Zayn standing on the threshold. “Louis!” he exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms over his chest in a very un-Zayn-like manner. “Harry told me you were here. I have a bone to pick with you.”

Louis flung his arm back over his eyes. “What.”

“You promised to look out for Mr. Whiskers.”

Louis sighed. “I did.”

“Then why was he all alone in your room?”

“Is he dead?” Louis asked dryly.

Zayn left the question unanswered.

“He’s not, is he? Then I did my job,” Louis concluded.

“Whatever,” Zayn growled, glaring at Louis like his cat. “Just get up and pack your things. We’ll leave soon.”

Louis sat up reluctantly, throwing his feet of the edge of the bed and on the floor, then rubbed his face. Zayn, already poised to leave, turned back with a tiny amused curling of the lips. “What are you doing here, anyway?” His face turned ashen, the smile wiped off. “Did you and Harry…”

Louis’ neck snapped up and he shot Zayn a glare. “No! God, no. Why does everyone always think that?”

“I think the reason is fairly obvious,” Zayn gave back and left the room, giving the doorframe a small tap with his fingers.

After one more minute of stalling, Louis finally got up and sauntered back to his room where he messily threw the things scattered around over the floor into his suitcase, then nearly suffered a fit when the zippers wouldn’t budge. The suitcases somehow seemed even more stuffed and bulging than they had been at first, even though he hadn’t added anything new to his luggage.

In the end, Liam had to come in and help him fold the clothes properly so they would all fit inside while Louis sat on the bed, grumpily watching him commenting Louis’ lacking talent in packing and folding. Louis thanked him by licking his little finger and sticking it in Liam’s ear when he wasn’t watching.

They made in downstairs just in time before the impatient driver would leave without them, having to escort dozens of hungover party guests back to shore that day. Today, the glamorous guests from the night before did not look so glamorous anymore. A lot of them were wearing sunglasses and flinching at every sound (especially the ones Louis’ luggage made while he half pulled, half threw it down the stairs, making it bounce off the marble floor). They still all looked unnaturally good, though. How come Louis never looked like that when he was hungover after a night of clubbing?!

Harry, Niall and Zayn were already waiting in one of the champagne colored cars in the circular driveway. Louis exchanged quick smiles with Harry.

Before getting in, Louis spotted pretty boy singer from the night before across the burbling water of the fountain and the boy gave him a small smile and wink. Louis blushed and quickly climbed into the car, hitting his head on the doorframe.

Hard.

He saw more fireworks behind his eyelids than he had seen in the sky the night before.

If Pretty Boy Singer had seen that, Louis would never go out in public again. Next to him, Harry giggled wildly at Louis’ pain, clutching his stomach.

“Thanks, Curly,” Louis said sarcastically. “You have a dark soul, you know that? All that kindness in nothing but a mere façade, hiding the darkness swirling and writhing beneath.”

Harry only laughed harder, making Louis lose his compose, too. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Niall watching them and raised his eyebrows to him, saying _What?_

Niall only shook his head lightly, saying _Nothing_. The car started up and down the hill they went, passing the orchard with the tree he and Harry had climbed, fountains, and statues. Louis nimbly waved a white marble statue of the greek god Zeus goodbye. Zeus did not wave back. “Impolite,” Louis muttered under his breath, making Harry laugh again; deep and rich, yet somehow also boyish-sounding.

The car left Zeus behind, forever tied to his socle and stone skin, then reached the small beach with its landing stage. One after one, they climbed out of the car and into the swaying boat, Zayn back in his neon life jacket, terrified cat tightly clutched to his chest. Louis watched the island shrinking behind him as they fizzed over the water, spindrift catching in his eyelashes and hair.

“Did you get to say good-bye to your Dad?” Zayn asked Harry, eyes anxiously fixed on the approaching safeness of shore.

Harry, moonily staring at the froth collecting on their trail in the blue-green ocean, looked up and nodded. “Yeah, we said goodbye this morning.” A small smile curved on his lips. “We ate breakfast together, just the two of us.”

Louis, still not entirely convinced the marks on Harry’s arms were not, at least partially, Desmond’s fault, put his hands deep into the pocket of his jacket and pinched his lips.

Twenty minutes later, they were safely back on shore and in Harry’s moon-white old-timer, Zayn without life jacket again, all of their luggage stacked dangerously in the boot. Niall had seen Harry, who had gotten only little sleep for waking up early to eat with his father, yawning multiple times and seized the opportunity to beg him to drive the car. Harry had happily agreed and climbed into the backseat, now squashed between Liam, Zayn, the cat, and the luggage that hadn’t fit into the boot, looking as happy and content as if it were the open back of a limo. Niall had reverently gotten in behind the wheel, letting his hands drift over the smooth brown leather for a second before gripping the wheel with a smile as big as the car itself.

Now, they were speeding along the motorway, leaving the small fisher's village and the dazzling house atop the hill far behind. It had already gotten dark, the golden lights lining the road glowing in the same color as Harry’s suit the night before, mixed with the bright, colorful spots of fluorescent traffic lights and blinking signs. The headlights cut through the darkness like glowing knives, and in that moment, it was entirely possible that they were the only people left on earth; in the entire universe.

The backseat was asleep, only Niall and Louis watching the road specked with mystical, eerie lights. The Beatles were drifting quietly from the speakers, and Niall was softly humming along, his fingers drumming the tact on the steering wheel. “If you had to predict your new year in one word, what would you choose?” he asked Louis, glancing at him with blue eyes brighter than all the lights outside combined. Niall Horan could light all these lamppost and traffic lights with a single laugh; Louis was firmly reassured in the knowledge.

He answered Niall’s question without hesitation. “Callipygian.” A smile curved his lips.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Niall asked, elevating his brows.

Louis’ smile curved further. “Having shapely buttocks.”

Niall’s laughter erupted from deep in his chest, so hard and sudden like an exploding geyser, his teeth flashing in the dim light. Louis laughed with him, and the sound of it drowned out the quiet humming of the Beatles and the whizzing of cars passing them.

Niall wiped away a tear from his eye with his orange jumper and said, “I missed you, Lou.”

Louis didn’t say what he thought: That he hadn’t been gone. But he wasn’t so sure that was true anymore. Maybe he’d been gone without even noticing.

Silence settled in the car again, soft and suave like cotton wool. Louis went back to staring out the window, one elbow propped beside it, chin in his hand. His forehead rested against the cool window.

Two songs passed, then Niall’s voice filled up the car again, this time quiet and a little tentative. “Lou?”

“Mmh.” Louis continued to stare at the lights dancing and shifting on the street and in the air, all blurred as the car drove by them.

“Are you… in love with Harry?”

Now Louis looked at Niall, letting his hand drop away from his chin as his mouth opened in surprise.

Niall only looked ahead at the street, calm and steady, not at all as if he had just dropped a bomb in the peaceful interior of the car. His eyebrows twitching up a little was the only indication of his curiosity.

“Why...” Louis swallowed. “Why would you think that?”

Niall shrugged, changing lane to the left. “Dunno. You two seem to get along, and…” A grey car passed them, headlights brightening them white and red for a second, radiant and effulgent, then it was gone again. “You look at him a lot.”

Louis’ mind whirred and churned, but he couldn’t catch a thought, couldn’t hold on to of any of them or even know what they were. Everything felt surreal and dream-like.

“No,” he said, his voice firm.

He turned to the backseat where Harry sat, Liam’s head on his right shoulder, Zayn’s on his left. He was wearing a soft-looking lilac woolen jumper, hanging loosely off his body, revealing his collarbone with the light pooling in its small hollow. A green bandana was wrapped around his head, single strands still sneaking their way to his forehead. The light falling in from the window painted dancing patterns on the pale canvas of his skin, his closed eyelids and slack lips. 

All of a sudden, Louis’ throat and the rest of his body felt constricted and heavy.

He felt Niall glancing at him and turned back. “No. I’m not.”

Maybe he had been expecting Niall to question his words, but he did not. He merely nodded and focused on the road again. “Okay.” That was it.

Louis’ feelings for Harry had been muddled and strange in the beginning, but… now there was something there. Something that, finally, had a name and was easy to spell out: Friendship.

And it felt fragile and something that had to be touched carefully as to not make it fly away, taken by a strong current of wind. Louis would not let himself be that current.

“No, I’m not,” he said again and went back to staring out the window. The lights had dimmed and stopped dancing.


	12. As Bad as You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry are friends.

_Song(s):_

_"Let's Dance" - M. Ward_

_"Candy" - Paolo Nutini_

 

“Ouch!” Louis complained, squinting his eyes closed.

Eleanor _tsss_ -ed and continued jabbing her pencil dangerously close to Louis’ very vulnerable and unprotected eyeball.

“I told you, I don’t want any eyeliner, nor do I need any.” He flattered his lashes exaggeratingly. “I’m naturally beautiful.”

Eleanor loosed a deep sigh and righted Louis’ chin in her direction with her long fingers. “Let me do my job and shut up.”

“Are you qualified for this?” Louis asked sheepishly, earning him a particularly hard stab near his lacrimal point.

“Are you qualified for writing scripts?” she gave back snippily.

“Touché,” Louis sighed.

Around him, he could hear people shuffling, getting dressed and carrying stage equipment, all the while happily catching up with the others on their Christmas and New Year’s. It was dress rehearsal today, and Clare had fixed Louis’ Peter outfit during the break, so his left nipple stopped slipping out which was very convenient since Louis trusted Eleanor to insist on piercing his nipples with a handmade device if she was in direct line of sight with them.

“Looks great, Louis,” a voice beside them joined in, making Louis, still temporarily blind, flinch.

“Hey, Greg,” Eleanor greeted, her voice again high-pitched and happy. Her hands finally let go of Louis’ chin and instead ran through his hair, disheveling it as if it wasn’t already disheveled enough.

“Can I safely open my eyes again?” Louis asked cautiously. He opened them just in time to see Eleanor rolling her eyes, but she was smiling when she saw her work with opened eyes. She clapped her hands ecstatically. “I did great!”

Greg leaned over his shoulder to look at his face, eyes widening in surprise. “Wow.”

Reluctantly, Louis turned his head to look past Greg into the mirror beside him, framed with lightbulbs, most of them broken and casting a weak light over Louis’ face. He had expected to look completely ridiculous when Eleanor had told him her plans for his stage make-up and had fought with teeth and claws against it, but now he had to admit that maybe she was qualified after all.

“Sooo?” Eleanor fluted, her eyebrows melting into her hairline. “What do you think?”

Louis blinked at himself, one time, two times, lips parting slightly. The eyeliner was only very subtly done, not even noticeable on the first look and his skin seemed more golden than Louis remembered it, though that could also come from the flickering lightbulbs framing his reflection. His hair was fashionably disheveled, slicked back slightly at the sides with gel, making him look way younger than he was. His eyes were blue and sparkling, bluer than Louis could remember ever seeing them.

Staring in the mirror, Louis saw himself from three years ago in it. It was almost uncanny, the resemblance to the Louis he had been once upon a time. The one with the flying career and glitter-themed Halloween parties and the boys wrapped around his finger by the dozens. The one that didn’t know yet the turn his life would make, taking a sharp linkage on the roller coaster that was life, throwing him out of the seat and into the dirt.

Louis gave Eleanor an impressed smile through the mirror. “Not that bad. Really not that bad. I don’t hate it.”

Eleanor clutched her hands to her chest, touched. “Thank you!” She blinked at him like a proud mother on her son’s first day of school. “Finally I could cover up those nasty dark circles under your eyes. Was about time. I couldn’t stare at them for a second longer.”

Louis, who had mirrored her touched look into the mirror, stopped looking touched. “Okay,” he clipped and got up from the chair. “I’ll go now, so you can draw scars or whatever on Greg’s poor poor face. Go crazy.” With a compassionate look at Greg, he added, “Good luck, lad.”

Greg took Louis’ place in front of the mirror, Eleanor rubbing her hands together behind him like a movie villain planning her next attack.

James hustled past, then halted in his tracks when he saw Louis. “Wow, you look great!” he exclaimed happily, squashing him in a big, soft hug. “Hope you had a good Christmas and all that jazz.” He fumbled around with the script in his hands, scowling at something he had marked on it. “Wait, that doesn’t make any sense…,” he muttered quietly, releasing Louis from the embrace. He looked up, seeming to gather consciousness again. “Louis, I want you to meet someone.” He pointed at a guy appearing at his sides as if on cue. “This is Ronnie. He’s volunteered to help us out with the stage technology. Great things ahead for us, I’m sure of it.”

His eyes caught on something over Louis’ shoulder. “Mitch! Hey, I need to talk to you.” With a quick nod and smile, he hurried off, colorful papers and notes fluttering through the air behind him.

“Hey,” Louis greeted Ronnie, giving him a smile. He squinted. “Did we meet before?” Louis eyed the man before him, from his wild white hair, to mismatching clothes, to huge boots.

Louis looked up again, mouth agape with surprise and recognition. It was the guy from the bus stop.

The man smiled at Louis’ recognizing face. “How was the walk?”

“Not great, to be honest,” Louis replied, loosing a breathy laugh. “Not great,” he said again.

“It’s very nice to meet you again, Mr. Tomlinson,” Ronnie replied politely. “If you have any suggestions or wishes for the stage technology just tell me. I’ll try my best to get this place running again.”

“Alright, thank you very much,” Louis said. “I have to get in my costume now, sorry. Good luck with all the broken things in here; there are a lot.” And not just things, but also people.

With an apologetic smile, he clapped Ronnie on the shoulder lightly and then made his way past him to the wardrobes. To his left and right, people were bustling past, half-dressed and half their face rouged.

Louis closed the door to the tiny changing room with the faded glittering star pasted on it. He had already laid out his outfit before getting his stage make-up done, and now smiled down faintly at the green shirt, brown trousers, black converse, and the addition he had picked up the day after they had returned from Styles Hotel’s.

Quickly, he slipped into his outfit and then emerged from the room into the busy hallway again. Everyone was now fully assembled in their costumes and hurried to stage where James was already waiting, his old-fashioned grey beret he always referred to as his ‘director cap’ coolly pulled over one eye, shadowing his excited glowing face and the big, jolly grin on it. “Alright, let’s do this!” he shrieked. “Dress rehearsal here we go. I want all of you to pretend now that there’s a real audience out there, watching you. I want professionalism.”

He pointed a finger at them, then hurried down the steps off the stage and into the auditorium, where he sat down and crossed his legs. He made a swooshing gesture with his arms, telling them to get the show started.

Everyone except Niall, Liam and Zayn (aka the Darling siblings) left the stage, watching them from the sidelines behind the curtain. Ernie was had taken in his spot at the back of the theatre, James quietly directing lightning instructions to him.

Louis looked around the fellow actors for Harry, but he was nowhere to be seen.

On stage, Niall/Wendy was singing his solo about life in London, sitting on the iron bed positioned on stage (Mrs. Proctor had found it in her stepson’s basement and had happily brought it along for the play), gazing longingly out the window while Zayn and Liam were watching him from the floor. The background music was quietly drifting from the stereo they had unprofessionally set up on the stage, the music recorded before with the instruments Niall had borrowed from people all across town and from guys he knew from community college.

The only instrument they really used for the play was the old, a little off-tune piano that had been backstage, waiting for them in its blanket of dust. Clare, who was a piano teacher, would be playing it on stage for some of the songs.

Greg (aka Mrs. Darling, aka Smee, aka the Ticking Crocodile) strutted on stage for his scene.

At that moment, Louis heard someone panting behind him and turned around to see Harry, doubled over, hair a complete mess. “I lost track of time,” he got out between heavy breaths, clutching his hands to his side. “I’ve got a stitch, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Louis laughed quietly. “What I can’t believe is that I lived to see the day I, Louis William Tomlinson, am on time while Harry Edward Styles is late. The world is not what it used to be anymore.”

Harry giggled then scowled. “Don’t make me laugh, I need my breath.” He looked up, seeing Louis’ full costume.

One second passed with Harry merely staring at Louis, blinking; then he laughed out loud, a sudden gigantic burst of a laugh that was like a popping balloon of surprise and echoed off every corner in the small theatre. Quickly, Harry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes as big as saucers.

“Shhh,” the others hissed from the other side of the stage. Niall flipped them off over his shoulder without breaking the song or missing a tune.

Harry clamped his eyes shut from embarrassment, then cracked them open again, looking Louis up and down unbelievingly. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Louis asked innocently.

“You’re actually wearing them.”

Louis shrugged, his lips bending into a smile and tapped a finger on the red suspender over his shoulder Harry had picked out for the costume in the thrift store. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just have a great fashion sense, thank you very much. You should get dressed as well, though. We’re on…” -he peered at the stage- “in a few seconds. And it’s called dress rehearsal for a reason”

Harry turned to the dressing rooms, still shaking his head at Louis with a grin.

“That’s what happens when you’re late,” Louis teased. “You should really work on your punctuality, Mr. Styles.”

Too late. At that moment, expectant heads turned to Louis and Harry’s side of the stage, waiting for them to run (sadly not fly) into the scene.

“Ah, fuck it. True thespians don't need costumes,” Louis said and emerged from behind the curtain. After one undetermined second, Harry followed him, shedding his custome-less skin and becoming a stubborn, sparkling fairy nontheless. As Louis watched him act, he almost forgot about Harry’s street clothes and saw wings sprouting from his back out of the corner of his eye. 

After the next three scenes of them ‘flying’ (running across stage with their arms outspread) to Neverland and a Pirate fight, Harry left stage and quickly changed for the rest of the rehearsal.

His costume consisted of a green and pink silk blouse that shimmered and rippled like soft waves and black skinny jeans, his hair swept up into a bun. The fairy dust Harry sprinkled over them before flying was glitter contained in a small satchel tied to his jeans.

The play finished, ending with the Darling children returning home, Hook killed, and Peter not seen again, his fate undecided. The lights dimmed, and everyone erupted into cheers, ecstatic about their first complete run-through without any fall-backs or interruptions (save for Harry’s initial outfit), complete with props and stage-lights.

The atmosphere was shimmering and filled with elation and pride for whatever is was that they had all put together and the road still to come. After a solid minute of the others begging, Clare sat down at the piano and started to play.

The music was bit wheezy, a little bit out of tune, but it jangled cheerily through the air. Harry’s aunt and her colleagues of the pirate crew all started dancing, quickly followed by the others.

Everyone except for Mitch, Zayn and Louis; the hermit crabs. Those three merely resigned themselves to watching the dancers happily clapping and chanting along with smiles on their faces. Well, Mitch sans the smile, but Louis had gotten used to him showing affection in other ways. For example simply being here and drinking a glass of wine as if he was asking himself what exact choice it had been that had gotten him into this.

Louis was asking himself the same thing, with a thankful swirl inside his stomach. He knew exactly who he had to thank for being part of this - for being part of something.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Mitch murmured.

“Yeah, me too,” Louis smiled. “Thanks for making me.”

Mitch shrugged stiffly and took another sip of wine. “It wasn’t my idea.” No, it hadn’t been.

Pulling himself together, Louis pushed away from the piano he was leaning against and threaded his way through the colourful costumes, passing Liam trying to persuade Zayn to dance, passing Niall teaching traditional Irish dance steps to Mrs. Thomas, Greg dancing the waltz in false tact with Mrs. Clarke.

Niall and Mrs. Thomas hopped to the side in their dance, revealing Nick and Harry dancing behind them. Louis’ hand, already slightly lifted to ask the fairy that had made him go on this adventure for a dance, dropped to his side.

He watched Harry grin as him as Nick twirled him around and he caught Louis’ eyes and stuck out his tongue at him. Louis stuck it out back at him and turned around again, the smile dropping off his face. He cleared his throat and tried to not look like he had gotten lost on the stage-turned-dancefloor.

At that moment, Greg helped him out with that as he grabbed his hand and took up the waltz with him, Mrs. Clarke having to take a short break on the piano, telling Mitch something agitatedly. Greg was so tall Louis had to stand on his tip-toes to reach his shoulders with his arms; even taller than Harry. And Harry wasn’t even that tall.

The music suddenly became richer, fuller, jollier as Niall took up his guitar and accompanied Clare on the piano. Sarah pulled a reluctant Mitch to the dance floor, Ronnie danced with Ms. Proctor, James with his wife who had decided to pop in for a visit in celebration of dress rehearsal; Adam was dancing with their little daughter.

Liam finally persuaded Zayn to perform some sort of cautious dance-like movements, regarding him fondly with eyes almost as shy as Zayn’s dancing. Over Greg’s shoulder, Louis watched as Harry let go of Nick’s arm and instead asked his aunt for a dance.

Louis waited another minute before he freed himself from Greg’s loose grip on his hands and slowly went over to him. Seeing him approach, Harry patiently gave his aunt over to Nick who swept her off the floor and twirled her around, making her giggle like she was seventeen years old again.

“Hey,” Louis said as he and Harry stood opposite each other in the middle of the stage.

“Hey,” Harry replied. Neither made a move to ask the other one for a dance and Louis felt somehow relieved for it. Niall had not mentioned their conversation in the car again, something Louis was deeply grateful for. There was nothing to discuss or talk about of course, but still. He did not want Niall or anyone else to see them and think otherwise.

But then, Harry’s hand reached out and took Louis’ and the next moment, they were dancing, Louis’ other hand on Harry’s waist, Harry’s on his shoulder. Harry giggled, watching their feet move to the rhythm. So much on not making others come to the wrong conclusions.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually wearing the suspenders,” Harry said, shaking his head.

In reply, Louis got up on his tip-toes and lifted his arms over Harry’s head, giving him a spin. Harry’s eyes sparked when he faced Louis again, the pinkish green shirt rippling over his stomach and chest. Louis tried not to think of the scars the shirt buried beneath it.

For the next while, they danced without words. The silk of Harry’s blouse was soft and slippery under Louis’ fingers and Harry’s boots stepped on Louis’ converse more than once, making both of them laugh. This was the closest they had gotten to each other since The night (save for that other time they had spent In a bed together, but that one didn’t count) and seeing Harry’s skin from so close made memories flash behind Louis’ eyelids that he quickly shoved aside, pressing his lips together. This was a new start and he didn’t want it to be awkward or weird.

“Do you know what Shakespeare once said?” Harry asked as he watched their feet, careful not to step on Louis’ again. His hair fell into his eyes, brushing the lashes.

“’The world’s a stage and all the men and woman are merely players’,” Louis replied and smiled as Harry looked up surprised and immediately stepped on the tip of Louis’ black sneaker.

“Yeah, exactly,” he said quietly as he slowly stepped off the shoe again.

They were swaying from side to side like buoys rocking on water, letting themselves be carried by the music like waves. “It’s true,” Louis said. “The world’s just one big messy wool bag of intertwined stories.”

“I like that,” Harry mused, doing a silly little shimmy with his shoulders. “I quite like where my string of wool has taken me. I like being here.”

“Yeah, so do I,” Louis whispered even though he hadn’t meant to say anything.

Harry's hand felt warm on Louis’ shoulder, even through the material of his shirt. “I heard Zayn mention it’s your birthday soon,” Louis changed the subject. “Do you have any plans?”

Harry’s face lit up at the words. “My mum and sister are coming to visit me. But other than that, not really, no.”

“Good,” Louis said as they swayed on their feet. “That’s good.”

He had the sudden urge to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder. They were on the exact same height. But he was afraid that his head was so heavy with thoughts and clamped memories it would pull Harry down and they would both tumble to the floor.

Also, it would maybe send the wrong signals.

Suddenly, Harry halted, withdrew his hand from Louis’ shoulder and instead reached into the small glitter satchel at his side with it. Louis watched him silently. “Look,” Harry said reverently with a boyish smile dimpling his cheeks.

His hand emerged from the small bag containing self-made fairy dust and threw it into the air over Louis. A tiny explosion erupted from his palm, sending glitter falling from the sky like snow. Louis felt it stick to his skin and regarded as a few got caught in Harry’s hair and eyebrows. One on his nose.

“Was that really necessary?” Louis asked, snipping a bit of glitter off his sleeve, but he was smiling.

Harry ignored him as he looked up slightly and whispered conspiringly, “Now we can fly.”

And it was so silly and absurd and why did Louis’ stomach lurch as if he were actually being lifted off the ground into the air?! _Why_.

Louis shook his head, trying to keep the soles of his shoes on the floor. “God, you’re so ludicrous.”

This was so stupid, and Louis' chest did not feel as if it was which was maybe the most stupid thing about it all. And his mouth didn’t seem to think it stupid as well as his lips curved into a smile. Why. Just why.

What had turned Louis into this strange creature that let itself be showered in glitter fairy dust by a glitter fairy boy? What had made him like it somehow? When had his life turned from a depressive indie movie to a cheesy Disney flick?

Whatever. He didn’t particularly care about the genre his life was, as an idea slowly formed in his head, balling up and solidifying like drying clay.

“I need to go,” he blurted out.

Perplexed, Harry said, “Alright.”

There was a bit of glitter caught in his eyelashes and a bit of glitter stuck to his round cheek. It reminded Louis of the ice-cream he had dunked Harry’s face in and the red splotches of strawberry adorning his skin even after he had wiped it clean.

Jesus Christ. What was it with things sticking to Harry Styles’s skin? Nothing seemed to want to let go of him: ice cream, glitter, people; it all wanted to cling on to him for as long as possible.

But Louis was obviously immune to this as he made his way across the stage and away from the magnet in human form that was now asking his aunt Mrs. Clarke for a dance.

Louis reached Ronnie who was sitting on a folding chair with Ms. Proctor and talking to her. “Hi, sorry to interrupt,” Louis interrupted them, giving an apologetic smile.

“No problem, kid,” Ronnie replied, ripping his gaze off Ms. Proctor’s.

It made Louis suppress a cheeky grin. “Sorry again,” he said. “But could I ask you for a favor?”

-

Louis kicked off his shoes in the narrow corridor of the flat and tossed his jacket somewhere into his room, put the shopping bags from the supermarket on the kitchen counter (look at him, being all responsible and a proper-adult!) then sashayed to the living room where he paused on the threshold and took in the sight before him.

There was Harry, lounging on the way more comfortable replacement couch Liam’s family had brought over a week ago, his mum concerned for her son’s well-being and sitting opportunities.

Louis would never forget the faithless, incredulous look on her face when she had seen the state of the apartment for the first time, the self-made brownies in her hand nearly sliding off the plate and onto the floor.

No one had told Louis about their visitors beforehand, and it had been his free day (aka the day he utilized for lounging on the couch, or in this case the fill-in sleazy mattress, in boxers and a hoodie, playing video games, sleeping and generally just making a complete mess of things). An awkward encounter, one might say.

Now Louis was of course formal and polished as ever, no crumbs on his clothes and his fringe in a neat disarrange as he angled his head to the side, trying to figure out what he was looking at.

There were Zayn and Niall, both upside-down, legs arranged in strange frog-like positions.

He had literally been gone for twenty minutes.

Harry shot him a short, bright smile and then did a double-take. “You’re wearing the hat!” he exclaimed happily, pointing at the pink monstrosity on Louis’ head he had forgotten he was still wearing.

He shrugged. “It’s cold outside.”

Harry fixed his eyes back on the TV, taking a bite off the baby carrot in his hand. There was an entire bowl of baby carrots on the couch table.

“Do I want to know?” Louis asked, flopping down next to Harry on the grey couch. The question was directed at Zayn and Niall still balancing on their arms, feet propped against the wall.

“Yoga,” Niall explained, his face red from the blood rushing inside.

Louis turned himself upside-down on the couch, legs pointing at the ceiling and regarded Niall and Zayn.

“Harry is teaching us,” Zayn explained. His necklace dangled into his face, swinging idly from side to side. Harry made an affirmative noise, not averting his eyes from the TV.

“How long have you been standing on your head for?” Louis asked, sitting up again as he saw spots dancing behind his eyelids.

“Loser has to bring out the garbage,” Niall grunted.

Louis looked at Harry who lazily shrugged. “Seemed like a fun idea.”

“You have a dark, dark soul, Curly,” Louis said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “And where’s Liam to put an end to this before a head explodes in here and he has to clean up the mess?”

“Fire-station,” Zayn replied instantly.

Zayn and Harry had been coming over so frequently the last few weeks, Louis sometimes forgot they didn’t actually live here. They seemed to forget it occasionally too.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be the ones that are studying and should have things to do?” Louis mused and grabbed a baby carrot from the table. He took a bite, feeling like an oversized rodent.

Niall merely shot him an upside-down grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Education is deformable.”

“What are you watching?” Louis asked Harry, turning to the TV.

“ _La Boum_ ,” Harry replied, eyes travelling over the subtitles written at the bottom of the screen.

“La what?”

“ _La Boum_ ,” Harry repeated. “The party.”

Louis watched with him for a few seconds. “That’s not English,” he observed.

“You’re such an intelligent beast,” Niall commented from the floor.

Louis gave him the middle-finger.

Niall tried to return it which made him lose balance and sent him tumbling to the neon green yoga mat sprawled beneath him.

“I won,” Zayn established, contented, and un-elegantly dropped on his back next to Niall.

“It’s a French movie,” Harry said absently, oblivious to his yoga class collapsing beside him.

“Wow, thanks,” Louis replied sarcastically. “I would never have guessed.”

“Shh,” Harry interrupted Louis’ talking and Zayn and Niall’s giggly bickering. “The best scene.”

The screen showed a sweaty girl standing at a low table in the midst of a high school party, colorful lights splitting the darkness around her. A boy went up to her from behind and carefully slid old-fashioned headphones over her ears, then led her back to the dancefloor where they swayed to the slow music in the midst of teenagers going wild around them, as if the music was creating an island separating them from the others.

“Mon dieu,” Zayn sighed from his perch on the floor. “So romantic.”

Harry sighed approvingly. Louis groaned and dropped back on the couch, but his eyes were still glued to the screen.

They watched the entire movie. For... reasons.

At some point, Niall cursed and jumped up because he was late to class. Apparently education wasn’t that deformable after all.

Zayn picked up his comic book after a while and buried his nose in it, so it was only Harry and Louis left watching the French teenie movie. What had become of Louis’ life?

When the movie was over, Louis’ fingers were twitching for the need of a cigarette. He scrambled off the couch and to his room where he climbed onto the fire-escape and lit a cigarette inside his shirt to protect the glimmer from the cool wind current.

Inhaling deeply, he realized with a small start how much time had passed since his last smoke. A week, almost. Maybe because he’d been so busy with rehearsals and new couches and trips to private islands. He hadn’t smoked this little since… since everything had happened.

Hadn’t smoked at all before that, actually. Not even once. He still remembered that night, after the play, after someone had called an ambulance and he was brought into the hospital because of alcoholic poisoning…

All of that was a blur in his mind, the roaring of the siren, the blue and red lights splitting the dark, the blurred faces, the cuts on his hands from the broken bottle, blood.

The cuts hadn’t been very deep, but it must have looked quite horrific to the on-lookers; his blood-stained clothes, glassy eyes. Either as if he had just murdered someone or been murdered himself. And a part of him had certainly died that night.

He still had the distinct memory of his hands gripping the velvet seats of the theatre hall as he scrambled for balance, red blood on the black seats.

Louis squinted his eyes closed as he fought against the memories, but they just kept flashing behind his eyelids. Luckily non of that had made it to Youtube as he had already fallen off stage by then and had been surrounded by a flock of people blocking him from flashing phone cameras. Then he had lost consciousness. And woken up in a sterile hospital room, hands bandaged and chest hollowed out and throbbing with a pulsating pain.

Curled up and asleep in the chair next to him, Niall, the lights from outside catching in his bright hair. He’d been there all night, waiting for Louis’ family to arrive, waiting for Louis to wake up, waiting for a miracle. Louis hadn’t wanted to see his family, hadn’t wanted to see anyone. Never wanted to see a person again.

Louis slowly opened his eyes again as he exhaled and watched the wreath of blue smoke hanging in the air before him. His hands curled at his sides.

Just as they had curled into fists in that hospital bed, digging deep into the bandages around his skin, ripping open the fresh wounds again. The sweat covering his entire body; the white noise filling his ears, his chest, his veins; the walls closing and pressing in on him; time and space contorting and losing shape; the blood rushing away from his head, pressing against every corner of his body as if trying to escape…

He had had to get out of that room. He had scrambled to his feet, dashed from the room, somewhere… somewhere without walls closing in on him. No one had stopped him.

 _“Louis Tomlinson, the most overrated actor of the century maybe. Little more than a heart throb no one, whether man or woman, can resist. But have we let ourselves be blinded by his charm and good looks?_ ”

_“You fuckin' faggot! We’ll polish your pretty face.”_

_“It’s definitely terminal.”_

Blow after blow, and at some point, that inevitable final blow comes. Always. The one knocking you to the ground. The one determining your losing. The one you can't get back from.

He had run to the roof, breathing and breathing, filled his lungs with sharp oxygen. He had doubled over, cold sweat everywhere. A panic attack.

After what could have been minutes or maybe hours, he had slowly been able to stand up straight again and took in the view before him. The sprawling, glittering city beneath him. The Thames cutting through the houses like a black ribbon tied to some god-made gift.

Breathe.

In and out, in and out, in and out. In and out.

His eyes had turned upwards, instinctively, as he searched for any hint of constellations on the inky black night sky, for something to hold on to. No use. The light pollution of the city had made it impossible to see more than one or two dots in the sky.

His bandaged hands had tightly gripped the iron railing surrounding the roof, muscles and wounds straining. Lingering for maybe a second too long...

Then, he had pushed off the railing, walked back into the hospital numbly, and had asked a man waiting for his wife’s surgery to end for a cigarette. The man had given him two, and a lighter. He had understood.

Louis had returned to the roof and had smoked the cigarettes, the trembling in his bones and trembling of his fingers slowly abating as he took in breath after breath.

When Louis had lit the second cigarette, the door to the roof had opened and there were steps behind him.

Quietly, Niall had stood next to him at the railing. He hadn’t commented on the cigarette between Louis’ fingers or the blood blooming on his bandages. Louis had been grateful.

The only thing Niall had said was, “Bit stupid to leave the roof door open in a hospital. An invitation for patients wanting to jump, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t asked Louis if that was what he’d come up there for. It hadn’t been.

“That’s a psychiatric clinic, you knob,” Louis had replied quietly, dropping ash from the cigarette off the roof into the city below. “Not in a hospital.”

Niall had taken the cigarette from in between Louis’ fingers and finished it in two long sucks. “You should go back inside.”

Louis’ throat had been too laced up to speak, his eyelids too heavy. Neither of them had moved as they had stared over the city, full of stories and possibilities and dreams and people. In that moment, Louis would have given anything to trade stories with any of them.

“It’s going to be fine, Tommo.”

Louis had not believed a word. How could anything be fine ever again? How could anything ever be fine on a planet without Jay Tomlinson on it? In a world with dreams as shattered and broken as Louis’?

But he believed it now. He really did.

He’d been right; there was always a blow that knocked you to your feet, but there was never a blow you couldn’t stand up from again. Some took more time, some less, some seemed impossible… but they weren’t.

He dropped his cigarette, noticing his fingers trembling faintly. Trembling like they had with the walls closing in. Trembling like they had standing before the fresh heap of earth in the ground. At some point, the trembling had seized; when a numbness had taken over instead.

Louis lifted his hand slightly, regarding the tanned skin, blue veins jutting out from underneath, nails bitten to crescents.

He felt something poke his side. “What are you staring at your hand like that for?”

Louis turned around in his perch on the iron stairs. Harry was leaning through the low window, poking Louis’ hip with a baby carrot. Louis’ hand quickly dropped into his lap, the memories dropping with it. “No reason.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay.” His eyes caught on the cigarette, then on the baby carotte in his own hand. “Wanna switch?”

Louis blinked at him. “What? No! You don’t smoke.”

Harry shrugged again. “You don’t know that.”

Louis flicked the cigarette aside. “I told you. You’re too good for that. Don’t want to corrupt your lovely mind, Curly.”

“I think my lovely mind has been corrupted a long time ago,” Harry replied, angling his head to the side. “Besides, I’m as bad-ass as you are.”

Louis chuckled. “You’re as bad-ass as they get, Curly.”

“Thank you,” Harry said as if it were a thesis he’d been trying to prove for a couple of centuries now.

He stepped away from the window and flopped backwards onto Louis’ bed, limbs spread out as far as possible as if he were trying to anchor the bed in place. He was wearing a black shirt with red rabbits stitched into it, an assaulting mess of a habiliment.

Louis liked the shirt. “I like your shirt,” he told Harry, resting his head against outside brick wall of the building and looking over the short distance to the bed. “Thankfully you don’t wear as much neon as Zayn. The world needs only so many lime-green sweaters.”

Harry giggled at the ceiling. “I know which one you mean. That thing could hypnotize pedestrians.”

“Maybe that’s why his cat is always so grumpy. It’s been hypnotized a long time ago.”

Harry chuckled triumphantly. “The mystery is solved.” He took a bite off the baby carrot, completely pertinent to his shirt. The snipping sound it made bounced off the corners of Louis’ small, untidy room.

Harry’s dark hair was spread over around his head on the pillow, his skin pale on the white bedsheets. He wasn’t as bad as Louis was. He was good through and through. If someone were to paint this sight of his unnecessarily long limbs spread out on the mattress like a starfish, red rabbits cavorting about on his shirt, the painting would most likely be called _‘Innocence_ ’. _‘Spider Aerobics’_ was another possibility.

Harry lifted his arms over his head and yawned, stomach muscles straining under his shirt, not that Louis noticed. His arms flopped down again, hitting the mattress with a soft thump. “I’m as bad-ass as they get,” he repeated Louis’ words with a goofy smile and sat up, grabbing the pillow and hurling it lightly in Louis’ direction. “I’m as bad-ass as they get!”

Louis laughed, covering his mouth with the hollow of his hand. “You’re completely stark staring crazy bonkers, is what you are.” He got up and crossed the distance to the bed where he picked up the pillow and hit it lightly on Harry’s chest, then on the top of his head.

When he lifted the pillow again, a wry grin almost as messy as his hair was on Harry’s face, eyes sparkling.

“Out of your mind. Insane. Mad.”

“We all are a little bit out of our minds, aren’t we?” Harry said, lifting the pillow over his head and setting it on top of Louis’ head like a strange hat. “I now crown you the king of all the bonkers, mad and strange in this world, King Louis Tomlinson the fourth.”

So, not a hat then. A crown.

Something tugged on the corners of Louis’ mouth as he looked down at Harry with his smile and his messy hair and his slightly crooked front teeth.

Louis didn’t even know his face could do this, responding without authorization from his brain, resulting in a smile that felt like the biggest, goofiest, unguarded smile his facial muscles had ever produced. He hadn’t even known his mouth was capable of contorting to such strange angles and tugs.

Harry’s shirt had ridden up at the stretching movement, revealing a slice of love handles and soft hip over his jeans, NOT THAT LOUIS NOTICED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, apologies for this disaster of a chapter :(( 
> 
> The next one will be better, promise <3
> 
> I hope you still found some mildly entertaining things in this chapter, though...
> 
> P.S: The original version of "Let's Dance" is of course by David Bowie, I'm aware of that, but I felt that M. Ward's version fit better for the story, so I went with that one.
> 
> Hope you all have a great day/night, thank you so much for reading! <3 Love you!


	13. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis falls.

 

_Song(s):_

_"I Can Fly" - Lana Del Rey_

_"Fallingforyou" - the 1975_

 

_Buzz._

Harry’s eyes snapped to the phone lying next to his plate on the flowery tablecloth. He forced his hands to reach out patiently, as if he hadn’t been anticipating every text that had buzzed in today, eyes always anxiously dragged back to the screen.

First thing in the morning, he had awoken at six am to Zayn texting every letter in 'Happy birthday' in quick succession, then a sunglasses emoji.

Then, at a more reasonable time, Niall’s text: all caps and about a hundred exclamation marks.

A few moments later, Liam. Sober and kind words: _Have a great day, H. Hope you have a good birthday! Much love Payno x_

Then Nick, Clare, Adam, Sarah, Mitch, James, Greg, all of his aunt’s friends. A brief call from his father.

Since then, the phone had been silent. Until now.

He peered at the screen, completely indifferent of course - his shoulders sagged. Eleanor. Slowly, he typed out a thankful reply and then set the phone down next to his plate again, facedown.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the living room wall. Almost nine. A tiny sigh escaped his lips.

“Why are you looking at your phone so much, sweetie?”

He looked up, seeing his mother smile tenderly at him from across the table decorated with streamers and flower vases.

“Have you got a secret admirer?” his sister piped up from her chair beside him and snagged his phone from the table, looking at his texts. “Such a heartthrob, our little Hazza.”

“Hey!” He tried snagging the phone from her hand, but she held it away from her body so he couldn’t reach it. Harry glared at her. Gemma flashed a grin and stuck out her tongue at him. Her hair had gotten longer since the last time Harry had seen her and it was back to the dark blond color Harry was used to; not the rebellious, vibrant purple anymore.

“Give your brother his phone back,” Anne reproved Gemma who rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and handed Harry the phone back as if they were bickering children again.

“I’m not looking at my phone,” Harry denied and determinedly shoved it away from him across the table to prove his point.

His mother chuckled quietly and leaned over the table to pinch his cheek. Her husband, Robin, was sitting next to her, running his hand in circles over her back. Jack, Harry’s cousin, was about to fall asleep, his eyelids already dropping closed. Robin offered to bring him to bed while the others cleared the table and brought the plates to the kitchen.

Seeing his family again made Harry’s stomach clench longingly every time he watched them. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed them all. They had arrived that morning and were set to leave again tomorrow already since Gemma had to get back to uni and Robin back to work. Harry already dreaded their departure.

He stacked up a few plates and carried them into the small kitchen where he set them into the sink. His mother appeared at his side, setting down glasses beside the plates. “My baby, twenty-one years old already. I can’t believe it…” She shook her head lightly, eyes glinting. “I missed you so much,” she said, embracing him tightly.

“Missed you too, mum,” he mumbled into her shoulder, savoring the familiar feeling.

“How is it going with the play?” his mother asked as she eventually let go of him, starting to clean the plates in the sink.

Harry leaned his back against the counter beside her. “Great. It’s a lot of fun, but also hard work on everyone’s part. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“Neither can I,” Anne smiled. “I’m sure it’s going to be marvelous. But no matter how famous and successful you get, you’ll always be my baby. Remember that.” She gave him a light kiss on the temple, the familiar scent of her perfume filling Harry’s senses with longing.

“It’s a voluntary theatre group in a small town. I doubt it’ll be my big take-off,” he said.

"It doesn’t have to be,” his mother replied calmly. “As long as you’re doing what you love.”

Harry smiled quietly to himself, remembering the excitement coiling in his stomach before each of his scenes. “I am.”

Anne flicked a strand of her dark hair to the side. “I know. You’ve always dreamed of this.”

They worked on the dishes in silence for a while before Anne asked, “Was it a good birthday for you?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to give his mother a kiss on her cheek. “It was perfect.” He resisted the urge to peer at the clock again.

At that moment, Gemma’s head peaked in through the door, eyebrows elevated. “Your phone’s buzzing, Haz. Just thought you should know.”

Harry nearly dropped the wine glass in his hand into the sink. “Oh,” he breathed. He cleared his throat, schooling his features into looking calm and settled, despite the instinct in his legs to dash into the living room.

With restraint, he washed the detergent off his hands and ambled out of the kitchen to the table. Hesitantly, he picked it up… and felt something tug at the corners of his mouth as he stared at the screen. Only one word, but from the one person it should have been from. _Hi_.

Then, another text buzzed in, strengthening the tug. _Happy birthday to you, my curly haired friend. We’re all getting old now :)_

Harry texted back instantly. _Speak for yourself_.

“Why are you smiling at your phone like that?” Gemma, perched on her hair at the table, legs tucked up to her chest, asked while painting her nails.

Harry looked up from the screen. “Like what?”

“Like that,” his sister replied, pointing a freshly painted shining nail at his face.

“I’m not looking at my phone like that.”

Gemma’s eyebrows flicked up as he she blew on her nails to dry them. There were freckles specked over her nose and cheeks, something Harry had envied her for since he could remember.

His phone buzzed again and he quickly stared down at it again, fingers already poised for a reply.

 _Listen, I know it’s late and your family is there and all, but I do have a present for you_.

He stared at the screen, unsure of what to type or think. Another text. _Could you come down for a sec?_

Harry’s fingers froze. That meant… Louis was here? He resisted the urge to run to the window and look outside. Harry typed out his reply, trying to rein in his features so Gemma wouldn’t drop a comment about it again or maybe come to the wrong conclusions.

 _You sound like an ax-murderer_.

Helpless. The giggle escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Gemma pursed her lips at him, shaking out her fingers.

_Says the boy who stalked me and then tried to murder me by sneaking up on my vulnerable soul and scaring me to death._

“I need to go out for a sec,” he declared, looking up with an apologetic grin.

His mother had appeared in the living room again, sitting down on the couch beside Robin and Harry’s aunt. She looked over her shoulder, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Where to?”

Harry shrugged. “Go for a walk.” He didn’t want them to… assume things. Things that weren't worth assuming anything about.

“Alright,” his mother replied with a smile. “Have fun.” Okay, she was already assuming things. And so was Gemma as she devilishly grinned from her perch at the table, waving at him.

Quickly, Harry shrugged on his coat and put on boots, then opened the door.

“What’s their name?” his sister called behind him.

Harry merely shook his head, feeling his cheeks heat and quickly closed the door after throwing his mother, step-dad and aunt a kiss and sticking out his tongue at Gemma. “I’ll be back soon!”

“Have fun, honey!” As soon as the door was closed behind him, he sped up as he hurried down the stairs and onto the street.

And there he was. He was looking down at his phone as if waiting for Harry’s reply. Wearing a soft black jacket with cuffs, black jeans, black trainers with light pink adidas stripes, his head cozied by a black cap. He didn’t notice Harry walking up to him.

“Hi.”

His head jerked up, a grin lighting up his face at the sight of Harry standing before him. “Curly!” he exclaimed, opening his arms. “The birthday boy himself! I see you’ve overcome your fear of being murdered by me.”

“I’m still trying to figure out where you’ve hidden your ax,” Harry gave back dryly.

“A gentleman never tells,” Louis replied, his eyelids going heavy. “I’ve got a little something for you,” he said after a few beats of silence, holding up two cupcakes, an unlit candle stuck into one of them. “I know you’ve probably already had a lot of cake, but…” He shrugged. “There’s no such thing as too much cake, is there?”

With a grin, Harry stepped up to him and took one of the cupcakes from his hand. “It’s from Mrs. Proctor’s bakery,” he realized, looking up at Louis.

Louis shrugged. “Tradition’s tradition, right?” He nodded to the sidewalk and they both lowered themselves on the asphalt, legs tucked up to their chests.

A damp, cold wind brushed past, ruffling their hair. Harry tucked a strand of it behind his ear while Louis fished a lighter from his pocket and lit the askew candle on the cupcake. “Here,” he said, holding up the cupcake to Harry’s face.

Gathering his breath, Harry peered at Louis, blue eyes sparkling in the light the lone candle and streetlamps down the road cast over them. The candle flickered out with his released breath and Harry realized he hadn’t wished for anything. Whatever. Right now, with his family in the house right behind him and... Louis bringing cupcakes for his birthday, looking at him with a smile….

Only two months ago, the thought of Louis making him so happy would have been completely ridiculous to him. 

For a while, they sat in silence, munching on the delicious chocolate cupcakes, the night and street quiet and eerie around them.

When he had finished, Harry looked up to see Louis holding out a black, very disorderly wrapped box to him, a smile flickering on his lips. “Promised you a present, didn’t I?”

For a second, Harry only stared at him and the present, then slowly reached out and took the box from his hand, setting it down in his lap. Carefully, he unwrapped the not very wrapped present, then opened the box it revealed. A sky-blue scarf lay inside, faint red and green flowers stitched into the soft wool.

“I saw you looking at it in the thrift store,” Louis explained, then cleared his throat. “Seemed as if you liked it.”

“I love it,” Harry said, wrapping the scarf around his neck with a grin. “It’s beautiful.”

Louis jerked his chin lightly at the black box. “There’s something else.”

Surprised, Harry reached out and looked inside the box again, the soft scarf shifting against his skin feeling like a decadence. His fingers closed around the object in its untidy wrapping. It was rectangular- almost flat.

Easing away the ‘wrapping’, he pulled out a stunning notebook bound in light brown, soft leather, a small strap binding it together. Opening the front cover, the material almost like velvet under Harry’s fingers, it revealed page after page of thick, blank paper.

“For all those thoughts whizzing around in that nuthouse you call a brain,” Louis said beside him.

Harry looked up, something suddenly seeming to constrict his throat. “Thank you,” he said, the words quieter than he had anticipated. “Really. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

For one heartbeat, they looked at each other, unblinking, unguarded. Then, a smile plastered on Louis’ face and he cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “Well, there is one more thing,” he said. “But that would require going somewhere.”

“Go where?” Harry inquired, furrowing his brows.

“The theatre.”

Harry’s brows furrowed more deeply. “The theatre? Why?”

“Stop asking so many questions,” Louis replied, scrambling to his feet.

Harry looked up at him as he extended a hand, the moon bright and full behind him, eyes sparkling, lips quirked into a smile. Harry reached up and took Louis’ extended hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. The faint plumes of breath coming from their lips met in the air between them, mingling there. For one second, they lingered on the spot, not moving, maybe not even breathing.

Then, the world and the thoughts started spinning again and they turned away as Harry hurried off to the building brick wall, getting his bike.

“Really?” Louis said with an exasperated sigh when he saw Harry pushing the bike toward him.

“'Course,” Harry smirked, getting on the bike. “Hop on.”

Louis didn’t complain as much as Harry had imagined as he climbed on the iron carrier behind him, lifting his legs off the ground. “Don’t kill us, Curly,” he muttered to Harry’s back.

Chuckling, Harry pushed his feet off the asphalt and started pedaling down the street. The grainy halos of the streetlamps lit up the barren branches of late winter trees flanking their path down the cobbled street. Lonely, steady lights flickered from windows, shining just barely on the remnants of old snow the tires of their bike crunched through. Wind brushed over their cheeks and through their hair, inquiring and curious.

“Can you tell me what we’re going to the theatre for?” Harry asked, the streetlamps whizzing by like oversized fireflies.

“Shut up and pedal,” Louis gave back with a laugh.

Harry had to admit his laugh was wonderful. It was raspy while at the same time being soft, and he always lifted the back of his hand to his lips, as if trying to shield the smile from the world - or the world from the smile – and it was all the more rewarding by being so hard-won. Harry had noticed that he seemed to make him – for whatever reason – laugh more than anybody else and that knowledge gave him a deep satisfaction.

They jolted down a cobblestone sticking out above the others, making Louis hold on to Harry’s waist for purchase. Just like the last time. He knew that Louis’ hands had already touched a great deal more of him than the material of his coat, but somehow, the slight pressure of fingers through the layers of clothing still made his cheeks heat.

As if he was thinking the same, Louis let go again, right as they reached the small theatre and Harry halted the bike before the narrow front steps. “I can’t deny I’m very curious now,” he said, getting off the bike after Louis had hopped off as quickly as he had been reluctant before the first time he had had to get on it.

Louis wriggled his brows at him as he strode up the stairs and pulled open the glass door leading to the abandoned, dark interior, the ticket table barely visible from the spare golden light of the streetlamps.

After leaning the bike against the chipped wall of the building, Harry followed Louis up the stairs and through the door Louis held open for him with his back. They went through the narrow entrance hall and then Louis pushed open the door to the auditorium, swathed in darkness.

“I would like to come back to that conversation about ax murderers,” Harry muttered, earning him a playful shove from Louis. They stood at the back of the auditorium, the stage a black wall before them. Louis cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room. If Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Louis was… nervous?

“Alright, so…,” Louis started, then paused and glanced at Harry shortly before directing his eyes back to the dark stage. “You know Ronnie? The guy who volunteered to be out stage technician.”

Confused, Harry nodded and said, “Yeah. He’s very nice. Actually, he’s retired but he told me he missed his work and that’s why he decided to help us.”

A smile glanced in Louis’ eyes as he turned to Harry and gave a little flourish of the wrist as, suddenly, a dim spotlight switched on, lighting the stage and a pair of wires with straps hanging loosely from somewhere in the ceiling. Harry jaw dropped open as Louis’ words paired with the image started to sink in.

“Yeah,” Louis said. “And I asked him if maybe there was a way for us to fly during the production. He said he’d have a look, but it was unlikely that the rigging system here would be advanced enough. Turns out, for some strange miracle or perhaps the great minds of the architects of this humble town, apparently we do have a flying rig. Not a very good one, or one for more than one person, so we probably won’t actually use it for the play, but… it’s enough for a birthday present.”

He paused, regarding Harry with his head tilted barely to the right, a smile playing on his lips and in his eyes. “So… Are you ready for an adventure, Harry Styles?”

Harry peered up, seeing Ronnie stand in the lightning booth, waving at him through the glass, a sandwich in his hand.

“Louis,” Harry started, then realized he didn’t know what to say. No one had ever done something like this for him.

“Don’t thank me,” Louis interrupted him. “I really didn’t do anything. And I promised you, didn’t I?”

Slowly, gingerly, Harry took a step toward the stage, then another. Then another. And then he started jogging, taking two steps up the stairs at once. Louis followed him, slower and calmer.

Louis gave him the instructions from Ronnie on how to put on the safety cord, clipping him on the iron cord. From the lighting booth, Ronnie smiled at them, nodding at each of the steps. “You don’t want to?” Harry asked, startled by Louis sashaying to the edge of stage.

Louis shook his head, a quiet smile dancing on his lips. “I’m good. But you go for it, Curly.”

For a moment, Harry hesitated, then, without warning, his feet lifted off the ground.

Lifted. Off. The. Ground!

A wild, untamed noise escaped Harry’s mouth, half gasp of shock and half shriek of amazement. This wasn’t happening. Watching so many professional theatre productions as a kid under his blanket after bedtime, following with big, bewildered childish eyes as the actors were suddenly lifted off their feet. Mary Poppins, where people were being lifted into the air from laughing so hard.

Peter Pan. _All the world is made of is faith, and trust, and pixie dust._.. _The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings_.

His arms spread as he soared from one stage end to the other, feeling the air brush past his ears. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling. A laugh exploded from somewhere deep inside of him, wild and untamed. “THIS IS AWESOME!” he shouted as he brushed past Louis, his bewildered face a mere blur of blue eyes and brown hair and slightly agape lips.

“You’re doing it!” he called back, pushing his arms in the air as if he was flying with Harry. “You’re flying!”

Harry’s head felt filled with starlight which may sound stupid but was the only way he could ever word the feeling. He felt like a snow globe that had just been shaken, and now glitter was swirling around inside of it, tickling and falling and flying.

He could not remember the last time. The last time he had felt so aware of every bit of breath and blood, simmering and thrumming, in his body. “I don’t ever want to come down again!” he yelled at Louis, stretching out his arms and legs like a floating ballerina.

“You don’t have to,” Louis replied. “We can leave you hanging up there and I’ll bring you books and clothes and food and then you can stay there forever.”

“That would be lovely,” Harry said, swishing past Louis.

“Although I think a lot of people would miss you down here, Curly. I know _I_ would.”

If Harry hadn’t been secured in a safety belt, he may have dropped to the ground with surprise at this unexpected show of affection. It wasn’t Louis’ style. At least not the Louis he knew. 

Doing breaststroke motions as he was swimming through the air of the auditorium, Harry said, “Look! It’s like I’m swimming through the air.” He laughed out loud, gripping his stomach with his arms as Louis watched him with an expression Harry could only describe as flabbergasted.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he drifted by him again, to and fro, to and fro. To and fro. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It took unusually long for Louis-standards to reply. “One might think just that watching you floating up there.”

Harry giggled childishly again for he didn’t feel like being mature or sane about anything right now. Not as he spread his arms and relished the feeling of freedom, of dreams, of flying, the squealing of the cords holding him off the ground accompanying the joyous shriek once again erupting from his throat.

“Best birthday eveeeer!” he yelled, rattling the theatre and its foundation to its core. Rattling the world to its core.

-

Louis was rattled to his core.

What was happening?

Harry Styles, that’s what was happening.

What had been happening for these last few months. Harry Styles, drifting and swishing and swimming and darting and floating through the air like some exotic, uncharted bird In flight, pealing laughter filling the large room, bouncing and glinting off the corners.

The fuck.

After what felt like mere minutes and whole hours, Harry’s reluctant feet softly hit the ground again and he unhitched from the safety belt, wildly waving and gesturing at Ronnie up in the booth. Ronnie grinned back with his rows of askew teeth, then left the booth unceremoniously after holding up a sign reading _Harry birthday!_  and pressing it to the glass.

Harry loosed a loud breath as he twirled in a circle, grinning fuller and wilder than Louis had ever seen, cheeks flushed and gleaming. “Thank you,” he breathed and before Louis knew what was happening, he had taken a step toward him and was drowning him in the biggest embrace Louis had ever been part of.

After a beat of being too perplex to react, Louis reached up and gingerly hugged him back, skin warm under Louis’ hands even through the material of his blouse. There were strands of brown hair tickling Louis’ nose and lips, smelling of vanilla and those mint gums Harry was constantly chewing. And Louis' heart suddenly felt too big for the cage of his chest.

“Thank you,” Harry said again, letting go of him and taking a step back. “For the adventure. That was incredible.”

Louis swallowed. “Don’t thank me. It’s nothing, really. I didn’t even do anything.”

Harry shrugged, smile still firmly in place. “Still. Thanks.”

Louis took a deep breath and said, “We should get you home again. I’m sure your family’s waiting for you.”

Harry twisted around to reverently look at the invisible scaffolding in the ceiling again, then nodded and followed Louis from the stage and through the auditorium back onto the icy street.

The glassy surface of the canal down the street reflected the watching moon, making it seem attainable. Harry unlocked his bike and swung a leg over it, Louis getting on the carrier behind him without any complaint. After a short moment of hesitation, Louis’ hands softly grasped the material of Harry’s coat instead of the uncomfortable iron pole under the seat. Harry didn’t flinch, but Louis felt him cutting him a short, astonished glance and spotted a flickering dimple out of the corner of his eye.

Something began to pound in his chest. A drumbeat that had gone silent down there.

Harry’s feet pushed them off the asphalt and down the street they went, the now familiar feeling of the carrier rattling and breaking his bones (no, he wasn’t being dramatic) making Louis jump up and down. To Louis, it felt as if he had been the one flying just minutes before; was what he felt like right now. He was flying. And he was alive. And so was Harry. And that thought was what nearly sent Louis plummeting off the bike, making his fingers clench in the rough material of Harry’s dark winter coat.

They reached Harry’s aunt’s small house, bike screeching to a halt in front of the door. The fact that Louis felt something like reluctance when he had to get off that torture device disguised as an iron carrier concerned him greatly.

Harry returned from the spot where he had locked the bike and stepped back to Louis, standing in front of the entrance door. Louis could still smell a bit of the vanilla-and-mint scent on his collar.

He gave Harry a sideways glance just as Harry looked his way, grinning, clearly invigorated by their shared adventure. Something inside Louis did a complicated tug.

“I suppose you should better get in there,” Louis said.

Harry glanced at the house behind him, windows spilling golden light onto the street. “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, eloquent as ever.

“Well,” Harry said, also eloquent as ever, not moving.

“So long, Curly,” Louis called as he slowly backed away.

He saw Harry chewing on his bottom lip before saying, “Do you want to come in for a bit? Maybe we still have some cake left.” He shifted from one foot to another, still smiling, still shining.

Louis’ mouth opened, operating on instinct, but then he stopped himself. He couldn’t breathe as he beheld Harry’s face, remembering what it had looked like when soaring through the air, the wild joy, the unchecked exhilaration. Then remembered what it had looked like that morning on the fire escape, taken aback and hurt. Because of him. Because of Louis.

The golden light from the window, the family behind it… That wasn’t Louis’ place. He didn’t deserve that. Harry didn’t deserve that, in another way. He slowly released his bottom lip from between him teeth as he stared back at Louis.

Breath hitching in his throat, Louis said quietly, “Thanks for the offer, but I have to get going.” He vaguely pointed somewhere behind him, trying to fight off the shakiness that crept over him.

“Oh, alright,” Harry nodded, taking a small step backward toward the awaiting door with its foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Then I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Louis replied, voice sounding brittle. “So long, Harry Styles.”

“So long, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said with one last lingering smile before turning around and disappearing through the door, shutting behind him.

Louis knew he should be moving on but he couldn’t seem to go. Through the window to the staircase, he saw Harry appearing on the landing, making a silly face at him through the pane. Louis felt it deep inside.

He tried to come up with something sassy to do or say in return but his brain had become a mess of thick and tangled thoughts. Harry hurried up the final stairs and slipped into his apartment, Louis still weighed down on the spot, unable to lift a foot or move a muscle or take a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

Fuck. No. NO.

Eventually, he mustered up the strength to rip his gaze from the vacant window and his feet of the pavement, making his way down the street in the direction of home.

Under the window to his apartment, he halted and burst into the thrumming and stuffy pub where Calvin greeted him with a tired grin from behind the counter. “Hey, Louis,” he muttered, wiping a pint glass with a rag. “What are you doing here so late?”

A group of students was sitting at the counter, throwing back shots. Louis didn’t reply and instead grabbed one of the shot glasses Calvin had already prepared for the loud group, then knocked it back, letting it burn its way along his throat and into his belly, hoping it would melt away everything that was lying there like a heavy stone.

Calvin huffed a surprised laugh. “Wow, that great a day, was it?” Shaking his head, he poured out another round of shots for the students and then another two for him and Louis. He slid the glass over to him and Louis emptied it in one gulp, pinching his eyes closed and not just from the heavy liquor. Calvin followed suit, making a face at the harsh taste. Technically staff members shouldn’t be drinking during their shift, Louis guessed, but no one really cared. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Calvin asked, slinging the towel over his shoulder.

Louis accepted another shot glass from Calvin. May this boy be blessed. “No.”

Calvin shrugged. “Fine.” He took a tray from behind the counter and carried it through the small room over to another flock of uni students loudly cheering and drinking themselves half blind. Louis watched them for a second, imagining what it would be like, being like that. What would be different if he had never broken off his psychology studies. If things would be different. If _he_ would be different. If he didn’t have to drink away the unwanted, messy thoughts clouding and stalling in his head, the clenching and tightening in his stomach.

Calvin returned to the counter. The image of Harry standing in front of his house, feet crossed loosely at the ankles, biting his bottom lip, hair still a bit messy and static from the bike ride down the windy street, crossed Louis’ mind. Asking him if he wanted to come inside. Inviting Louis into his life, to his birthday, trusting him again after everything Louis had done to him. Looking and smiling at him as if he was worth looking and smiling at.

Two words had flashed in Louis’ mind at the question. Two words, blinking in big, red letters. _Fight or Flight. Fight or Flight_. And like the little damaged shit he was, Louis had chosen flight. Again. Always.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Calvin asked again, sliding another glass across the counter to him, then emptying his own. “I give some great advice sometimes, you know?”

Louis shook his head, feeling shaky and too full. “It’s complicated.” He pressed his palms to his eye sockets. “I’m really fucked up. And he…” He doesn’t get it. Pushing the words away, Louis drained the drink in one go, feeling a rush of light-headedness.

Right here, right here was where it had all begun. Where he had been drunk and had talked to Harry and had lead him to the bathroom, and and and…. Touch. The softness of lips. That mint and vanilla scent, mixing with Louis’ smoky breath in the nonexistent space between their mouths.

Then that night he could barely remember, only flashes of skin and quick breaths and dizziness. A strobe quick memory of Harry’s fingers digging into his backside. He shut his eyes against it all, but the movie reel kept playing behind his eyelids. The ice cream fight, the snow, Harry twirling around on the crunchy white blanket, his eyelashes dusted with perfect lace-pattern snowflakes.

“I need to go,” he breathed and slid off the bar stool.

Calvin wrinkled his brows at him. “A’right. See you, Louis. Take care.”

Louis nodded vaguely and pushed open the door onto the windy street, savoring the sobering air on his skin. The apartment was dark and quiet when Louis opened the door and toed off his shoes. Only the faint bass and drunken chatter from the pub downstairs drifted up, but they all had become so used to it that by now, it would have been weird living without it.

Exhausted, Louis slid down the front door and stretched out his legs, staring at the corridor. After a short eternity, he picked himself up again, strangely collected given all the things rummaging and colliding inside him at the moment.

He opened the door next to him and quietly slipped inside the room behind – not his own, but the one he needed to be in now. The stripes of the Ireland flag looked black and grey in the dark, the figure lying in the bed under it wrapped in a tight cocoon of blankets, feet sticking out at the end.

With a sigh, Louis sat down at the edge of the bed, the figure turning to the other side with a groan. “Are you asleep?” Louis asked.

“Yes."

“I need to talk to you.”

“I need to sleep, you little fucker.”

Louis waited for a few seconds, then Niall picked himself up slightly, propping up on his elbows and regarded Louis with swollen, heavy, squinting eyes that didn’t hide his curiosity in the slightest. His golden hair was disheveled and there were sleep lines all over his right cheek.

Louis felt the urge to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight, or maybe be held tightly, just like Harry had held him tonight. Maybe the feeling was addictive. All Louis had known was the heat and smell and comforting size of him – the touch of soft skin on his cheek and how he had wanted to feel it somewhere else. How Harry had chewed on his lip and it was all Louis could do to keep himself from tracing it with his fingers. His mouth. And some thoughts once thought were incredibly hard to unthink.

“You were right.” His voice sounded heavy and thick, yet also brittle and frail. “I think maybe you were right.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Niall groaned, dropping back onto his pillow. Niall knew exactly what he was talking about. As if he had the same thought, Niall sighed heavily into the dark. “So… what are you gonna do?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing. Why should I? I mean, it could just be temporary, right? It’s not serious. It’s just… He’s Harry. And I’m Louis. And… we’re friends.”

“And you’ve already hurt him once,” Niall added soberly, making Louis flinch slightly.

“Yeah.” Shame pressed on him, sickening and oily.

Niall blew out a breath and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. “Yeah.”

Louis climbed over Niall and threw himself down on the mattress beside him. “What now?” he asked the ceiling, but it was Niall who answered.

“I don’t know.”

At that moment, the door cracked open and Liam’s primly styled head peeked through, eyes sleepy. “Hey. I thought I heard voices in here,” he observed. “Why aren’t you asleep? And why are you in Niall’s bed, Louis? Is there something you need to tell me?” he sniggered.

“Why can’t anyone just let me sleep?” Niall muttered quietly and rolled onto his side.

Liam let himself in and sat on the edge of Niall’s bed, looking as soft as a poem in the dim light.

“Louis has a crush,” Niall informed him sleepily.

Liam’s eyes lit up as his head shot to Louis. He was definitely way too energetic for the middle of the night. And way to immaculately styled. “You do?! Who is it?”

“Harry,” Niall replied instead of Louis who wasn’t really in any state to form words. Liam’s eyes bulged and he nearly dropped backward off the bed at Niall’s reply.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Louis groaned and burrowed his face in his palms.

Liam cleared his throat, obviously struggling to regain his composure. “Oh, wow. That’s… “ He paused, considering. “Actually not that shocking now that I think about it.”

Louis peered through his fingers. “It isn’t?”

Liam shook his head slightly. “No, not really.” After a pause, he added, “So, what does this mean? What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Louis replied and he really did not. He had no idea what this meant, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything good. “Nothing.”

Maybe part of him wanted Liam to object, to tell him he should tell Harry, he should act on whatever this was, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Louis had hurt Harry already and there was no way Harry could ever let himself trust Louis like that ever again.

“If it helps, I’m sure it’ll pass again,” Liam supplied, making Louis’ skin feel too tight and clammy. “Crushes aren’t forever. I can’t tell you how many people I thought I had a crush on and that turned out to be just a phase, so no need to worry.”

Louis didn’t say what was lying on his tongue, swirling through his head and veins: that he had the apprehension this wasn’t a crush – this was so much more than a simple crush or infatuation. This felt different from anything Louis had ever felt before and it also seemed highly unlikely this would simply pass if he gave it some time. It felt significant.

The way his stomach had clenched and loosened all at once while watching Harry fly, the way all he wanted to do when he was with him was laugh and cry all at once. It felt scary and big and uncontrollable and something Louis couldn’t hold back. It slipped through his fingers, no matter how determinedly he tried to grip and stop it, and grew and formed in way he could do nothing against but watch in fascination and horror. When did all this happen?! _How_ did all this happen?!

“I’m totally fucked, aren’t I?” he asked, loosing a sharp breath. His fingers, laying intertwined on his tummy, tightened around each other.

After a moment of silence, Niall, curled up beside Louis with his back facing him, and Liam, perched on the edge of the mattress, both said, “Yeah.”

Louis turned over onto his belly, buried his face deep in a pillow, and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	14. Waterloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry falls.

 

_Song(s):_

_"Like a River Runs" - Bleachers_

 

 The sun-drenched iron railing of the small balcony was warm under Harry’s fingers as he loosely poised his hands on it, looking over the roofs of the small Italian town. It was late-afternoon, the sky a vibrant color of blue that reminded Harry of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Vines covered the facade of the building, creeping and curling its way up to Harry as if to seize him, specks of technicolored flowers in full bloom among the deep green vines. With a small sigh, Harry turned his back to the beautiful city with its light blue painted windows and cobbled streets lined with small cafes and restaurants.

He stepped into the small room with its dirtily white, flaking walls, a low bed with creaking feathers taking up all the space not already occupied by his small writing desk and the mint-green typewriter waiting for him, the blank page and black keys staring at him accusingly. Lately, the mere thought of producing words that weren’t only His name over and over again had been impossible.

A fine bouquet of red flowers adorned the bedside table, a speck of color in the room. With a sigh, Harry dropped onto the chair at the desk, stretching out his legs in patterned trousers. Absently, his fingers gripped the cross necklace hanging from his neck to his chest, exposed by the undone buttons on his light, yellow blouse. A soft breeze drifted into the room, bringing the sweet scent of fresh bread and flowers, pleasantly cooling Harry’s warm skin and billowing the curtains.

Harry grabbed a single strawberry from an otherwise empty bowl next to the typewriter. The door opened and Niall Horan stepped into the room, wearing a black suit, a white towel slung over his arm. “You have a visitor, Mr. Styles.”

The strawberry stopped on its way to Harry’s already slightly opened mouth as his hand froze along with every nerve and muscle in his body. Hope stirred his blood, heartbeat quickening. He sat up, breathless. “Who is it?” he asked in what he hoped to be a nonchalant way.

“Mr. Tomlinson, sir.”

Harry’s breath stalled in his throat. It was him. After all this time, he had returned.

“Let him in,” he said, attempting to control the shakiness in his voice. Niall Horan nodded and disappeared back into the corridor, leaving Harry anxiously waiting behind. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something to hold onto, something to steady him.

“Mr. Styles.”

That voice. So familiar, so exquisitely painful.

Slowly, he looked up, and there he was. His hair had gotten longer and was slicked back, a scruffy beard covered his jaw and cheeks, his skin was tanner. But those eyes, that deep melancholy blue, were still the same. He was wearing a dapper black suit, fitting in all the right places.

Louis seemed to be as shaken as Harry was and he covered it well, but Harry had always been able to read him better than himself. Eventually, Louis spoke up, “You still look the same. Just like I remember you. But your hair-“

Harry ran his fingers through his short hair, just to give his hands something to do. “It’s shorter.”

Louis nodded lightly, regarding him intensely as if to make up for all those years they had missed. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Harry admitted, his voice thick.

Louis angled his head to the side, a loose strand falling into his eyes. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Harry had never forgotten that specific handsomeness – the severe cheekbones, the sharp blue of his eyes. Never. It was all he’d ever been able to think about, anything he had been able to write about.

He saw Louis taking a deep breath, chest rising and falling heavily. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you. The thought of you is what got me through, I need you to know that. I fought and fought, all for this moment. The moment I saw you again.”

For some reason, Harry was now holding a laced yellow parasol which he twirled in a circle before letting it drop to the floor. Louis took a step toward him, eyes sharp and watchful. Harry took a step toward him like a pole being pulled to its counterpart.

“I missed you.” Shafts of sunlight poured in from the balcony doors, bathing them in a soft golden shimmer. “Mon Cherie,” Louis breathed, charging the air.

Harry opened his mouth to falsely protest, to say something – anything – voice all the worries, but he couldn’t remember any of them. Were there even any? But all of it floated away the moment Louis crossed the sun-drenched floor to kiss him.

His stubble rubbed Harry’s cheeks raw, but he wouldn’t have stopped kissing him for anything. There were hands and mouths and tongues, and before Harry could stop himself he had pushed Louis back to the faded white wall, pressing him against it, the kiss deepening. His hands buried in Louis’ hair, Louis’ hands gripping his shoulders. His legs slung around Harry’s waist, ankles locking behind his back.

Tighter, tighter, closer, closer.

They were melting together, becoming one but still weren’t close enough. Harry used his tongue to trace the corners of Louis' mouth, the seam of his lips, feeling Louis’ body shudder against his, his hands sliding down to grip Harry’s hips.

One of Harry’s hands ripped away from Louis’ soft hair and snaked up his shirt, marveling at the warmth of his skin. Fingers shaking, he unbuttoned the rest of Louis’ jacket, and peeled it from him, along with his shirt. And his pants. It all happened in one smooth motion, never breaking the kiss.

And then Louis was standing before him, sweaty chest heaving. Tattoos covered his skin; daggers and ropes and strings of words and a compass and an arrow. When Harry looked down at his own body, the full evidence of just how ready he was revealed, he saw that his skin was bearing the completion of Louis’ tattoos; roses, ships, an anatomical heart and anchors.

For one moment, they stared at each other before kissing again, Harry pressing Louis against the wall once more. Harry’s eyes opened just as Louis started tracing lines down his lower back. Lower.

His head was thrown back, giving Harry’s lips better access to the column of his throat, his collarbones. Harry happily accepted the invitation, the dare, as his fingers reached down to -

Suddenly, the door behind him was flung open and he whirled around, Louis still pressed against the wall. Both of them panting, they saw Niall entering, wearing a scooby doo onesie, the white towel still slung over his arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have another visitor,” he said, keeping his head high as if he hadn’t walked in on both Harry and Louis naked and in a tangle of limbs.

Harry turned back to Louis who was staring at him, wide-eyed and now wearing a large jumper, his hair not slicked back, but in an artful swirl, fashionably disheveled. He was holding a cigarette in one hand, taking a drag and exhaled a thin haze of blue smoke. This was Louis.

Behind him, Harry spotted a bathtub, tiles shimmering and blurring in Harry’s vision.

Quickly, he turned back to the door, unable to stare at the bathroom tiles any longer. Someone appeared behind Niall’s shoulder, long naked ears peaking up, a monocle in front of one marble eye…

Harry flung open his eyes with a sharp intake of breath, staring directly at the grumpy, pissed face of Mr. Whiskers. He stifled a scream at the abrupt greeting.

Oh god. _Oh god_. OH GOD.

A dream. Nothing else. Just a dream. Just a dream.

Groaning, Harry buried his head in his hands, laying in his bed amid the jagged shards of his dream.

Mr. Whiskers kept staring at him accusingly. Hold on… Why was the cat even in his room?

Harry glanced up and saw Zayn curled up in an armchair in the corner, nose buried in a comic book. Hastily, Harry scrambled for his blanket to cover up the situation in his pants that made his head whirl and cheeks heat significantly. Zayn did not need to know about this. Especially not about the dream. God, the dream…

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Zayn looked up from the colorful pages. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he said absently, turning the page. “Yo, you’ve slept quite long. And you made weird noises.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding Zayn’s dreamy eyes. “Oh really? That’s funny.”

Zayn shrugged, turning back to Deadpool. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m here because I’m waiting for you. And I couldn’t leave Mr. Whiskers all alone.”

“And why?” Harry asked, glancing down at the sheets covering the hazardous area of his lower regions. He needed to do something about that. He eyed the door to the bathroom impatiently.

“We’re going to that concert tonight, remember?” Zayn muttered.

“But that’s not until six am.”

Zayn didn’t reply, his eyes flying over the comic book pages, brows creasing slightly. Harry gave up on it and rose from the mattress, holding the sheets in place around his waist as he backed his way to the bathroom door.

Zayn’s eyes stayed firmly glued to the page, unaware of the awkward position Harry was in or the confusion in his head.

“Do you believe in fate, H?” Zayn asked suddenly, just as Harry was pushing down the handle to the safety of the bathroom. He turned around again and saw Zayn looking at him, but still seeing through him, in that very Zayn-like way of his.

“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe… Do you?” He didn’t ask why. That was the wrong question to ask with Zayn.

“I do,” Zayn replied firmly, finally looking at Harry. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the five of us met. You know; you and me and Niall and Louis and Liam. Family isn’t always correlated to blood and I think self-made families are the most magnificent twists of fate. We’re a beautiful twist of fate.”

Harry angled his head to the side, feeling a little smile play on his lips and a little something else curl deep in his stomach. “Maybe.”

“Liam certainly is a beautiful twist of fate in my world,” Zayn added as he turned back to his pages.

“Then you should tell _him_ that, not me,” Harry said as he finally slipped into the bathroom and closed the door on a baffled, contemplating Zayn.

With a ragged sigh, he leaned against it and closed his eyes before taking off his clothes and getting in the shower, turning on ice-cold water. Eventually, he couldn’t fight it any longer and wrapped a fist around that hard part of him, not thinking about the dream. Not thinking about it. Not even a little bit. Because that would be wrong.

Especially when he had turned around and Louis had been Louis with his oversized jumper and pulled down sweater paws, that mischievous glint in his eyes. It sparked the memory of what he had looked like in That Night in Harry’s mind, sweaty with exploration and pleasure.

Harry was sent over the edge as the blazing fire of release went through him and he spilled himself in his hands, the water from the shower head washing away all of it. Harry rested his forehead against the tiled wall, feeling restless and unfulfilled. Feeling alone and confused. Feeling empty and longing. Longing for the wrong things, apparently.

A knock sounded against the bathroom door, very tentative and soft, clear indications of the knocker being Zayn. “H, we need to leave!” he called. “You’ve been in there for ages.”

Muttering under his breath, Harry climbed out of the shower, dried his skin and wrapped a towel around his head. He had not realized how long he had taken in the shower, too preoccupied with not thinking about what his subconscious had erected for him in his dream (no pun intended).

He ripped open the door, making Zayn flinch. “There you are,” he said and lifted his phone showing the texts Niall had sent him. “Get dressed. The others will be here soon. They’ll bring your car. Oh, and Niall said he shotguns the driver’s seat.” The phone pinged again and Zayn glanced down at it, then added. “Louis is having a wardrobe crisis, so they’ll be a little late.”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek at the mention of Louis’ name. Stupid subconscious, stupid dream.

“He wants to look his best for the Rogue,” Zayn explained and dropped back onto the armchair next to Harry’s bed, taking up his comic book again. Harry stalked to his wardrobe and rummaged in it, looking for something to wear for the gig he had been excited about ever since Louis had told him about it. Hell, ever since an angsty, goofy sixteen-year-old him had discovered them at some band contest his sister had reluctantly taken him on with her and her friends.

From that moment on, Harry had been their number one fan. At least that’s what he had thought. Now he knew that Louis was as big a fan as him, if not even bigger. Together, they made up the band’s very sparse fan club which probably consisted of exactly two people (Louis and Harry).

Finally, he settled on a black-and-yellow striped shirt, black jeans and his usual brown boots, then added his navy-blue coat as he cracked open the small window to test the temperature. It was getting warmer, the final remnants of dirty snow almost completely gone.

At that moment, he spotted a white car rolling down the street toward him, a hand sticking out the driver’s window waving madly at him. Harry nimbly waved back, feeling a strange sort of dread at the approaching car. But he would not let anything show, not let this get in the way of having a good time, not let this make things weird.

The car stopped against the curb and Zayn informed Harry that Niall had texted them to get down pronto. Quickly, Harry gathered his things and out the flat they went, Harry giving his aunt a short goodbye kiss on her cheek, followed by his stumbling over one of the balls of fur on the floor. His cousin giggled loudly from his spot on the couch as Zayn and Harry closed the door behind them and hurried down the stairs to the waiting car.

Niall’s head peeked through the driver’s window, his usual cheshire cat beamer broad and lucid on his face. Liam stuck his head over Niall’s lap to peer out the window with him, smiling sweetly at them. “You guys ready?”

Zayn pushed a fist in the air, maybe the most energetic Harry had ever seen him. “Ready.”

“Get in, losers,” Niall said, inclining his head to the backseat. “We’re going to a concert of the worst band that has ever graced the earth with its ungraceful presence.”

Harry and Zayn obeyed, but as Harry saw Louis lounging in the backseat, he motioned for Zayn to sit down in the middle seat. Louis caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye, a confused tilt to his mouth. Zayn was too preoccupied to listening to Liam talk about his morning in the fire station to see Harry’s request, anyway, leading to Harry gingerly climbing in before him.

“Hey,” he said to Louis as he sat down, their legs brushing lightly.

For a second, Harry saw Louis looking at their touching legs before pulling his away and look out the window, giving Harry a tight-lipped smile. “Hey.”

If Harry hadn’t known better, he would have thought Louis knew about the dream and Harry’s strange fantasy about him. But that wasn’t possible, so why was Louis acting like this? Weird. Just when they had warmed up to each other and become friends- partners, even.

Harry’s brows creased slightly as Zayn got in beside him and closed the door. Niall turned back on the driver’s seat, looking at them expectantly. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat before going to the concert.”

After solid ten minutes of debate, the car took off down the street, heading to the next McDonalds, much to Harry’s chagrin and damage. But apparently this was a democracy, even though they had never voted on it being one. Harry crossed his arms defiantly while informing the others about all the health issues they would soon face and the painful, slow deaths they would all die.

Louis was being unusually quiet, not teasing Harry and not engaging in the conversation as much. He was only staring out the window, not even casting Harry the shortest of looks. And it hurt. Especially since Harry had no idea what had led to Louis shutting off again, drawing back within that cage Harry had watched him slowly tiptoe out of.

He lightly nudged Louis’ knee with his own while the others kept debating about the question whether or not McDonalds was superior to the vegan restaurant Harry had proposed. It was a very one-sided discussion.

“You alright?” Harry asked quietly, watching as Louis slowly turned around to him, something stricken and corded in the sapphire of his eyes. “We’re seeing the Rogue soon,” Harry went on excitedly, pinching Louis’ wrist and coaxing a small smile out of him.

“Yeah, we are.”

Harry’s voice rose. “Yeah, we are!”

The smile firmed up as Louis’ voice surpassed Harry’s. “Yeah, we are!”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Niall chimed up from behind the light brown steering wheel, grinning at them through the rear mirror. “And I never would have thought I would say this one day, but I’m actually kind of lookin’ forward to it. You lads have corrupted me.”

Louis wriggled his eyebrows. “And you love every second of it, don’t you?”

The question was left unanswered as the car pulled up to a McDonalds drive-through and they placed their orders at a crochety lady with bouncing neon pink curls who handed them their food through the window.

“You sure you don’t want anything, Harold?” Niall asked, passing the others their food.

Harry eyed the bags distastefully. “Absolutely positive.” The others didn’t hold back and started eating, Harry watching them and trying very hard to hold his breath so he wouldn’t smell anything, making his stomach grumble. After one minute, Louis sighed with an exasperated grin and held his box of fries out to Harry without a word.

Harry stared at the box, then at him. “No, thank you.”

Louis gave him a look. “Go on. I can hear your stomach trying not to grumble from here.” He picked up a fry and waved it in front of Harry’s face like a hypnotizing pendulum. “I know you want me,” he said, probably voicing the fry, but it still made Harry’s cheeks warm up, especially with the dream still fresh in his mind.

With an annoyed sigh, Harry finally grabbed the pendulum and ate it, making Louis smile smugly. Harry glared at him as he grabbed another fry Louis offered him. Then another. Until eventually, they were essentially sharing the meal. “Thanks,” Harry grumbled quietly.

“What did you just say?” Louis said, placing a hand behind his ear. “Could you repeat that, please?”

Harry rolled his eyes and snagged the fry on its way to Louis’ mouth from his hand, stuffing it in his own mouth instead. Louis gaped at him, affronted. It made Harry giggle. There he was again, that Louis Harry had grown to … like a whole lot.

Really a whole goddamn lot.

They finished their meals with bickering and laughing, then Niall set the car in motion again and down the motorway they went. Harry’s leg was still gently pressed against Louis’, but he did not fail to notice that Louis pulled it away quickly and faintly shimmied closer against the car door, away from Harry.

They reached their destination, located in the next town, and stopped before the address, staring at the sleazy, grungy bar in front of them with skeptical expressions. All of them save for Zayn that was, who was regarding the spray-painted brick wall as if it were his long-longed-for home planet.

One after one, they climbed out of the moon-white old-timer that was as out of place in the street as Louis had looked in his tracksuit at the fancy dinner table on Harry’s island. His father’s island, not his.

People were already lining up at the door, some wearing abstruse band merch, others sparkly party dresses. Liam looked down at his watch. “It’s already started, but the Rogue isn’t on until an hour.”

Nevertheless, they made their way inside, being swallowed up by the warmth of the grungy, gloomy bar. Harry looked around the room; there was already a band playing on stage, a few people lazily swaying along to the music on the dance floor. “I’ll go get us drinks,” Louis said and made his way up to the counter.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry said quickly and followed him. Louis threw him a short glance, waiting for Harry to catch up with him while the other three sat down at one of the sparse tables, debating about the hot topic whether or not Sunday roast should be consumed on week days that did not bear the fitting name.

Louis placed their orders at the counter, then turned to Harry as they waited for their beverages to be poured. Harry leaned loosely against the counter and watched Zayn, Niall and Liam laughing and talking at the table. Zayn was staring at Liam while he was laughing, snapping pictures of the three of them and the band on stage.

“It’s funny, that,” Louis said, leaning against the counter next to Harry.

“What is?” Harry asked.

“Liam is like an oblivious little puppy. He’s the only thing Zayn’s got eyes for. He’s always lookin’ at him.”

Harry chuckled quietly, watching Zayn watch Liam giggling at a photo he shot of Niall sticking out his tongue. “That’s true. I mean, how can you be the center of someone’s universe and not even realize it?”

“Yeah, that’s a really good question Curly.”

“What?” Harry said, doing at double-take at Louis.

Louis’ brows creased. “What what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you like that. What even is ‘that’?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know.” He pointed a finger at Louis’ face. “Like that. Like you know something I don’t.”

“Oh, _that’s_ what you mean,” Louis said loudly. “You actually have a huge bogey on your face, that’s why I’m looking at you like that.”

For a second, Harry stared at him, shocked, before pinching his wrist and giving his shoulder a shove. “You’re an idiot.”

Louis laughed, his eyes crinkling into crescents as he ducked away from Harry’s hand. Harry felt a smile creeping across his face. At least Louis wasn’t acting weird anymore. Not weirder than usual, that was.

Their drinks were placed on the wooden counter and they took them, steering back toward the table. “Zayn is the same, by the way,” Harry said, prancing out of two girl’s way, carefully balancing the glasses in his hands so nothing would spill. “Just can’t see how ardently infatuated Liam is with him.”

Louis chuckled as they reached the table and placed the glasses on it. “You know, sometimes I almost forget that you’re a seventy-year-old lady trapped in a twenty-one-year-old male body, but then you always quickly remind me again.”

Niall took a big glug from his beer, all the Irishman, then pushed back his chair. “Let’s get on that dance floor.”

The others followed his example and got up, steering toward the small area in front of the stage. Harry noticed that Louis wasn’t though and turned around, giving him a questioning look. “You coming?”

Louis nodded and said, “’Course I am.” He smiled a weird, bashful smile Harry had never seen before. It nudged awake a little flutter in Harry's stomach and he raised a hand to cup Louis’ elbow and pull him with him, but at that moment, a man appeared behind Louis and tapped him on the shoulder, an excited, coy smile making his teeth glint and shine white in the gloom of the bar.

The overhead lights lit up his hair to make it look like spun gold and silkily soft. Harry knew this boy. Of course he knew him. Everyone did.

As far as Harry could remember, he had also attended his father’s New Year’s Eve party and his perfect face was plastered on almost every billboard on the goddamn island, promotion for his band’s newest, long-awaited album.

Harry preferred The Rogue, thank you very much.

And what was he even doing here? Harry took a step toward Louis and the boy as Louis turned around to the boy, surprised. Harry couldn’t see his face anymore, but the pretty boy laughed charmingly.

He was wearing sunglasses. Inside. It made Harry purse his lips deprecatorily.

“Hey,” the boy said to Louis, still chuckling. “What are you doing here? How are you?”

“Hi,” Louis replied, sounding a little breathless. “I’m good. Yeah, ‘m good. I’m here with some of me friends, lads night out, you know? You? What about you, I mean?”

The boy laughed again. Harry’s lips pursed further. “I’m sort of here undercover.” He pointed at the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “That’s why I’m wearing these things. A desperate attempt so I won’t be recognized and harassed by paparazzi. A friend of mine is actually performing today. I don’t know if you know his band, they aren’t exactly huge. His band’s called the Rogue. Have you heard of them?”

Harry took a sharp intake of breath, so loudly he was surprised the boy didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did but simply didn’t care. His gaze was wholly fixed on Louis, roving over his body as he leaned closer to him conspiratorially. “Quite shit if you ask me, but don’t tell him that.”

Now Louis laughed too. “Shut up! I love that band. Don’t you dare insult them.”

The boy’s eyebrows raised. “Oh really? Then maybe I could introduce you to him later. I’m sure he’d be happy to.” He leaned even closer to Louis and Harry had to strain his ears to hear what he was whispering. “And maybe afterward we could get back to my dinner offer.”

Aha. Good for them.

For a second, he watched as Louis’ back tensed and Harry already made to leave, certain of Louis going with the beautiful boy.

But Louis didn’t. “Sorry mate, maybe some other time. But I’m here with my lads. See you some other time.”

And with that, he turned around and headed in Harry’s direction, smiling a brightly wry smile. There was a feeling inside him like bees. Just as Louis and Harry reached Niall, Zayn and Liam on the floor in front of the stage which was now crowded with a bustling crowd, the music turned louder as the first ‘real’ band of the evening entered the stage, starting to play a cover of _Bohemian Rhapsody_.

Harry, still taken aback by Louis practically turning down the fittest and richest and most beloved bachelor in all the land, was only capable of staring at him as one of his favorite songs of all time lavished the room and singing crowd. His cheeks felt flushed and pink, as if he were newly drunk, even though his drink was still cupped in his hands, untouched.

Quickly, he took a few gulps, feeling the alcohol loosening up his muscles and mind just that little bit he needed to start singing along with the others. The room was charged up and energy was sizzling through the air like flapping bird wings.

The crowd started moving and jumping like a rising and falling wave, drinks raised in the air. And Harry was part of it. His drink emptied as quickly as the songs passed over and through him.

He let himself be lost in the moment, the music, swallowed up by it in one big gulp as the singer on stage sang about heartbreak and love and misery and dreams. Sweat was coating his back and even Zayn, amid all these people he didn’t know, was laughing.

The Zayn who never left his house, never willingly ignited a conversation, never took that daring step toward the unknown, was here, dancing, singing, laughing. And Liam may have been a little more than a mere catalysator. He was staring and looking and regarding Zayn swaying in the midst of the crowd like a sea creature with his eyes blissfully closed.

Niall was laughing his loud laughter that could rattle and light one up from within the bones, his arm slung over Louis’ shoulder like the brothers they were. And Louis – Louis was carefree, and happy and dancing, and he glanced shortly at Harry with an unreadable expression.

Everything smelled of beer and breath and music, the air itself seeming to sweat. Then, the Rogue were announced by the band on stage and the five boys erupted, along with the crowd around them.

Without his doing, Harry’s fingers gripped Louis’ wrist, looking for fixation. For the length of a heartbeat, Louis glanced at Harry, surprised, before leaning closer to his ear, whispering, “You ready?”

His breath was warm on Harry’s skin and his thumb ran in circles over his wrist, sending shivers along his arm. Louis’ fingers laced through Harry’s, holding fast. It was a small gesture, but Harry felt it everywhere at once. In every single atom and molecule making up his body.

The Rogue, this beautifully disastrous band, took the stage and the lead singer’s raspy voice filled the room, the cheesy lyrics spinning and threading in the air and tangling around the bodies in the crowd. Music filled Harry to the brim as it blasted through the room. They were young and bright and impetuous. And Harry was immensely enjoying this world in which all the edges seemed to have been rubbed off and the only thing left was everything that made him feel good and full.

His eyes were glued to the stage and the musicians on it, hitting the drums and stringing on the guitar as if their lives depended on it. One of the reasons he loved this band so much was that most their song lyrics were rather cheesy self-written lyrics mixed with famous quotes from literature and poetry; Oscar Wilde, Leo Tolstoy, Dylan Thomas...

His favorite song started playing and his voice rose along with all the other ones surrounding him. “ _We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”_ The lead singer’s raspy, deep vocals gave Oscar Wilde’s words a sort of ruthless, reckless air to it that made Harry believe he could do anything. Even move to a small town and star in an amateur musical production to somehow make things better.

The crowd was loudly singing along as if trying to drown out the actual singer’s voice and their instruments. “ _Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary._ ” It didn’t fit the tact, but oh did it fit the song. The lead singer grabbed a water bottle and sprayed the water over the crowd, droplets splashing on Harry’s heated skin.

_“The heart was made to be broken.”_

He did not know how much time passed, or how many songs were sung. All he knew was that it was not long enough and his favorite songs had not been sung nearly enough when the band bowed from the stage and left, their music still echoing and coursing through Harry. He turned his buzzy head and Louis was there, his mouth a breath away from Harry’s. Harry did not say anything, only laughed. His head was light and buzzy.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” Louis answered Harry’s unsaid words, smiling tremulously. It nudged awake a little flutter in Harry’s stomach amid the sea of music, ecstasy and wonder.

Neither of them moved. A long strand of Louis’ dark hair had been shaken loose, falling across his cheek. He tried to tuck it back, but it fell again, and in that moment, all Harry wanted to do was to cup his hands at the base of his neck. It would be so easy to touch him.

He should not think these kinds of thoughts. Should not dream those kinds of dreams. But he didn’t feel like stopping it. A quote danced in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Niall slung an arm over his shoulder, squeezing tightly, then steered them toward the exit doors through the slowly dissolving crowd.

They tumbled out of the bar and onto the dark street, five boys disheveled and stirred by energy and music. Harry raised his palms to the sky dotted with faint stars that felt close enough to touch and danced on the black pavement, tipsy and pink-cheeked.

He was alive. And for maybe the first time, he actually felt like it.

No, that wasn’t true. He had. He knew this feeling. Recognized it from flying in an empty theatre, climbing on an old tree in a salty breeze, having ice cream fights late at night, lying sleepless in a warm bed while saying everything out loud he had never said out loud.

His gaze slid to Louis, leaning against the white car with his arms crossed, watching him with a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth. “Elegant as a fairy, you really are,” he said as he opened the back door of the vehicle.

The others had already slipped inside, the warm shimmer of the dashboard making their skin glow. They were laughing at something, Zayn gripping the headrest of Niall’s seat, Liam drumming the tact to one of the songs they had just a few minutes ago danced to on the dashboard. Harry smiled tremulously, because the pleasure of Louis’ warm, teasing voice pierced through him with such a familiar pleasure that it might tear him apart.

Over the last months, they had fought and laughed and teased each other, and with a small start he realized that it was his favorite thing in maybe the entire world, this thing between them- whatever it was.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Louis asked; his voice was tender, gentle, like Harry had never heard it before. Harry felt something settling in his stomach like a stone. The words nudged his mind gently, but he did not give way to them as he hastily shook them off and climbed into the car, followed by Louis.

Niall had excitedly discovered how to open the roof of the car and now Liam and Zayn were forcing him to let it slide open, letting in the cool late winter air as they left the bar behind them. Cheering, Niall pressed the button and the roof slid back because that was exactly the kind of thing cars owned or gifted by Harry’s father had to be capable of. Anything else would be unacceptable.

Laughing in his puppy-like way, Liam stretched up and gripped the edge of the roof, hauling himself into an almost standing position. Niall and him were singing a Rogue song, uneven melodies and all. “ _Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light._ ”

Harry sat back in his seat, feeling fingers of night-air ruffle his hair. After the heat and noise of the bar it was somewhat of a relief. The roads were dark and almost deserted and the streetlamps burning with a smudged golden light that made the world seem out of focus like a photograph worn-out by time.

Taking in his surroundings, Harry was surprised by how normal this had all become to him; meaning the four boys squeezed with him into the car, chanting and singing into the wild air like the slightly drunk lunatics they were. Harry was suddenly full of love for them, full of love for everyone. One year ago, he had still been sitting in his room, dreaming of adventures that did not involve champagne and golden peels hiding something beneath it, and now he was here with four boys he loved, singing and driving and being lost together.

It felt like they were heading straight on till morning. He was finally awake.

By the time they reached the flat, the energy and buzz had faded slightly, revealing the heavy tiredness beneath it and Harry’s eyelids had begun to droop like heavy wilting flower petals. He had not even realized he had given in to their pull until someone shook his shoulder gently, whispering his name.

He jolted upright, seeing Louis smiling down at him from the open car door, tilting his head in the direction if the building behind him. “Come on. It’s way more comfortable up there.”

Hoping he hadn’t drooled in his state of half-sleep, Harry scrambled out of the car, almost tripping over his own tired feet at the dangerous decent of half a foot to the asphalt. Louis laughed quietly and gripped his arm to steady him. “I’ve got you. Walking never has been your strong suit, has it?”

Harry wanted to retort something sassy or witty, something that would make Louis laugh again, but his tired mind couldn’t come up with anything and it didn’t really matter because Louis was smiling nonetheless as he lead the way to the front door where the others stood, waiting with faces looking as tired as Harry felt. Apparently the ecstasy had worn off their minds as well, taken by a strong gust of wind through the open car windows.

They all nearly tripped over each other as they practically crawled up the stairs and through the hallway with tired limbs and the mixture of bad, cheesy lyrics and classic poetic quotes still droning in their heads.

Harry dropped on the new couch in the living room, the other boys landing and scattering around him on the cushions and on the floor. Niall got up again, muttering something about having a bad knee and not letting himself be convinced to sleep on the floor, then something else very Irish-sounding Harry couldn’t discern; probably something about beer and craic and leprechauns.

He heard a bed creaking through the wall as Niall leaped on it, then probably fell asleep instantly. “You can take my bed,” Liam offered kindly to Zayn as he saw him neatly arranging a row of pillows on the floor.

Zayn hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Liam insisted Zayn at least take the couch instead of the floor and Zayn was too tired to protest (which he always was, but now particularly). Plus, Harry knew him well enough to know Zayn would not sleep on the floor on any occasion whatsoever and especially not a floor without his cat. (Even though Liam made Harry doubt this more and more. Maybe Zayn would actually sleep on a floor for him.) Love does crazy things to you. _When love is not madness, it is not love._ (Pedro Calderon de la Barca and another song stuck in Harry’s head.)

Liam was the one to lie down on Zayn’s cushion fort and Harry crept to his room, Louis to his own. Hand already poised on the handle, he turned around once more, seeing Louis smile quietly at him through the gloomy corridor “’Twas a good night, wasn’t it?” His words sounded slurred and more northern, like Niall became more Irish with each drink, Louis became more Donny with the day.

Something snuck up on Harry. “Why didn’t you go with that singer tonight?” The words were out before his groggy mind could catch and drag them back. “You could’ve met the Rogue. You could have had… anything.”

Louis rubbed his eyes with the sweater paws pulled over his wrists. “Better not to meet your heroes, right? That’s setting yourself up for disappointment. And I wanted to spend the night with you lot. It wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us. Which is exactly what it should be like.”

Harry leaned slightly against the door to Liam’s room. “I don’t think that’s true. What you said about meeting your heroes.” _You were a not a disappointment. You were not what I expected, but maybe just what I needed_.

Louis’ answering smile was soft and sad, as if he was gainsaying Harry’s words in his mind. His hair was disheveled, eyes tired, yawning into the sleeve of his jumper. Harry felt something settle in his stomach like a stone. All he wanted was to wrap his arms around Louis’ shoulders and hold him and be held by him which was not something normal to feel. Not normal at all.

So, maybe this was his Waterloo. Full _ABBA-_ style. The moment he lost the battle against himself and against Louis Tomlinson. The moment every lingering shred of him that had not yet succumbed to this boy that challenged and teased and saw him vanished.

“Anyway, good night Curly,” Louis said, taking a step into his room, gaze skimming back to Harry for one moment, full of something Harry’s groggy mind could have sworn was something like pain or maybe regret.

The door closed behind him, leaving Harry standing alone in the hallway with nothing but the words he hadn’t been able to quite grasp before his only company. They were part of a song and the words unfurled within him in the uneven tact of music.

 _We are asleep until we fall in love_. Leo Tolstoy.

And Harry had never felt more awake than ever since he had first seen that boy lying on a low brick wall, looking broken and fascinating.

With that, he knew. All his thoughts and memories of shared laughter, furtive glances, gentle touches, tingling of stomachs and pleasurable teasing, they all coalesced into one simple and infinitely complicated understanding: He was in love with Louis Tomlinson.

_Shit._

Tired and not knowing what else to do, he opened the door to Liam’s room and lay down on the bed, closing his eyes. Sleep did not come for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the beginning confused you for a while haha! :D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, sorry for all the quotes. (Maybe a little much).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3 (This is were things get fun now, so bear with me here)
> 
> P.S: Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to, that would make me really happy :)


	15. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam is a hero. Louis hopes.

 

_Song(s):_

_"When The Stars Go Blue" - Ryan Adams_

 

 

The bed springs creaking, Louis turned to his side as he tried and failed to go back to sleep. Never worked, did it?

Accepting his defeat, he succumbed to peeling himself off the mattress and sidled to the kitchen. The flat was quiet, the doors to Liam’s and Niall’s rooms firmly shut. Passing the living room, he saw Zayn lying on the couch, Liam on a make-shift mattress constructed of pillows beside him. Liam’s unacceptable black cap was pulled over his face, making him look like a very modern, very neat tramp.

In front of the door beside the kitchen, leading to Liam’s room, Louis halted. Feeling very stupid and very pathetic, he slowly rested the tips of his fingers against the wood, as if he could feel Harry’s breathing vibrating through it. Being in love with Harry already felt like something he had been struggling with forever. Maybe it had.

After another desperate glance at the door, he ripped his finger pads from the door and finished his voyage to the kitchen where he poured himself one or maybe five bowls of consecutive cereals, eating them in airy silence, the ticking of the clock and distant chirping of returning birds his only company. Quite sad, given that there were four other peers in this flat and still he was eating alone. Bless.

Throwing a glance at the clock, he was not all that surprised to see it was already late afternoon. What he was surprised about however, was that for the second time already, he was the one who woke up the earliest. (Even if early meant five pm in his case) If it kept going at this rate, he would maybe even become an early bird. At the thought, he shoveled another spoon of sugary fruit loops into his mouth, fighting against the dreadful shiver.

Bored, he left the kitchen and, once again, stopped next to Liam’s door. This time, he raised his hand more determinedly, knocking curtly and softly.

Behind him, someone yawned loudly. “I think he’s already gone.”

Louis turned around, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, really? When?”

Liam, leaning against the living room doorframe, yawned again, lifting his arms over his head to grip the upper frame to stretch. Louis’ eyes narrowed at the sight of Liam’s stomach muscles rippling and stretching under the gap between where his shirt had ridden up and his sleeping trousers (white with red fire engines). The cereal marinating in his own stomach grumbled dirtily.

“I heard him leave a few hours ago,” Liam replied, dropping his arms from the doorframe.

“Oh. Okay.” Louis tried not to look disappointed. He had hoped to discuss yesterday’s concert with Harry today, reliving every detail and every line of every song. But if Harry wanted to be alone or with his aunt right now, that was absolutely fine. Even if it made Louis’ mood dampen significantly.

Over Liam’s shoulder, he saw Zayn’s sleepy head emerge over the back of the couch, hair tousled like a hackly raven. Blindly, he fumbled for his glasses and put them on, immediately lightening at the sight of Louis and Liam watching him. “Morning,” he piped up, then, with a glance out the window, added, “Or evening, I guess.”

The sun had already started its decent, glowing red and orange through the window panes. _Good-bye sleep rhythm_ , Louis thought, resigned.

“I should get going now,” Zayn said, rolling off the sofa with a surprising amount of grace. Louis glanced at Liam, waiting for him to object and ask Zayn to stay longer, but Liam didn’t. _Bloody idiot._

Then again, Louis probably wasn’t any better. Both of them stood at the brink of potentially ruining a friendship that could be the best kind there was.

Sitting down on the abandoned couch, Louis fished his phone from the pocket of his hoodie, fingers hovering over the message app for a brief second, considering texting Harry. But what should he even write? This was horrible. Before, talking to Harry had never been difficult. Not always welcome or voluntary, but never difficult.

Now every word was nothing but a potential land mine Louis was afraid of stepping on. Something to deal and proceed carefully with, lest he scare away what they had both grown to accomplish together.

He was shook awake from his reverie by Zayn waving at him and Liam before disappearing down the corridor, off to see his indigent cat that had had to live its life alone for the impossibly long amount of time of twelve hours.

Liam sat down next to Louis on the couch, Louis tucking his phone away, the thoughts with it. “You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” he said flatly, putting his hands into the now empty pockets of his black hoodie.

The warm sun streaming in through the windows lit up Liam’s brown eyes to dark honey. “Generally, yes. That’s why we get along so well. But in this particular instant, I don’t know what has brought this thought upon you.”

Louis sighed. “Why didn’t you ask Zayn to stay? What is going on with you two? It’s painful to watch, I can tell you that much.”

Liam’s ears turned pink as he lowered his eyes to the couch, looking ashamed. “You think he likes me?”

“Of course he likes you!” Louis burst out, rolling his eyes. “Are you really that blind?!”

Liam’s ears were now almost radioactively pink. “But we’re friends and… he’ll grow bored of me some day.” He ducked his head, sounding and looking like a little insecure boy. This was a part of Liam Louis had seen glimpses and shimmers of before, but never this unguarded and clear version of the impeccable man he seemed to be most of the time. “Everyone does at some point.”

Louis’s face softened as he reached out and ineptly patted Liam’s shoulder. “I won’t. You surprise me every day, Payno. A gift that keeps on giving. And apparently you don’t even realize it.”

Liam looked up, earnest and happy. “Thanks Tommo.”

Louis looked away. This was a little too much for him. His eyes fell on Liam’s pajama bottoms with little red fire engines. How was this boy twenty-three years old? Then again, Louis owned a bright pink cap and he wouldn’t even start with Harry and his rabbit shirts and knock knock jokes.

“Why do want to become a fireman?” he asked, leaning back into the cushions.

Liam grabbed a pillow and put in his lap, kneading on it. “Because I like saving people, I guess. And I want to be a real hero.”

Louis regarded him quietly, then replied, “I think you are already. To Zayn, you’re the biggest hero there is. You even beat all the ones from those comic books he collects like a squirrel its nuts.”

Liam looked up slowly, something dawning on his face. That little shove he’d needed to see. “I’m really stupid, aren’t I?”

Louis winked and pointed a finger a finger at him. “Here we are.” Jerking his head behind him at the window, he added a, “Better hurry,” and watched Liam jump from the sofa and dash out the room, pajama bottoms flying in the breeze.

A sleepy, rumpled Niall lumbered from his room, blinking drearily at the door Liam flung open in his face. Unfazed, he sashayed into the living room and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “What’s goin’ on?” he yawned.

“Something that should have happened a fucking long time ago to spare us of all this useless shit,” Louis replied, rushing to the window.

-

The coffee cups warmed Harry’s hands as he carried the bags and beverages down the street.

Zayn, standing at the building entrance next to the pub windows, waved at him and stopped in his tracks as he saw Harry approaching. Harry waved back, nearly spilling the hot tea he had gotten for Louis over his chest. Tea for Louis, not coffee. For a second, he was baffled by his being so assured in that knowledge. He hadn’t even realized how well he’d gotten to know Louis over the past months.

This morning, he had awoken bleak and restless, having to be alone. He had gotten up quickly and early, on his way home to bury in his bed and watch romantic comedies, maybe go to Nick’s. In the end, he had gone for a run to clear his head, but what he had found there had not helped at all. A clear head, yes, but it had only crystallized even more what he had already known and tried to run from. Sweating and panting, he had doubled over, music playing through his ear pods, realizing this wasn’t anything to run from. It was something to live with. Determinedly, he had straightened his back again and kept running, this time back home to get changed and then return to Louis’ apartment, brushing the feelings away along with the sweat.

After grabbing scones and drinks from Mrs. Proctors, he had walked back to the apartment, knowing fully well the others were not likely to awake before three pm, given the time they had come home the night before and that it was Sunday. He would keep it together, he would not let this -let him- change anything about the one thing that had made him truly happy for a very long time, maybe always. You don’t even realize how unhappy you are until you realize what happiness truly feels like, he guessed- _Keep it together, Styles_. _You’re just confused (and can’t seem to forget about that one night)_.

Gripping the coffee tighter, savoring its warmth paired with the teasing late afternoon sunlight glinting on the cobblestones, he steered toward Zayn waiting for him a few paces before the entrance door. “Hey H,” he said, glancing at the pastry bags.

Harry held up one of them. “Want some?”

Zayn shook his head. “I need to get going.”

Harry chuckled. “Mr. Whiskers?”

Zayn nodded soberly, but there was a tilt to his mouth that made Harry curious. “Everything alright?”

Looking up, Zayn’s dark eyes were big and child-like as he searched Harry’s face for agreement. “Friends is good, right? It’s enough?”

Harry blinked. This hit a little close to home. “I, um, yeah. Definitely.”

Zayn nodded, looking as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry. “Yeah, definitely.”

Deep down, they both knew it was not.

“Alright,” Zayn exclaimed, a little chipper for his standards. Harry watched him tread down the street on his toothpick legs, hands buried deep in the pockets of his neon anorak that was way too warm for the light spring air.

Biting back a fond smile and already feeling a little better about the day, Harry turned back – and almost collided with a hard, bulk body that bolted past him. Liam was barefoot, wearing pajama bottoms and a white shirt, now splattered with the brown liquid of Harry’s coffee cups that he had spilled all over Liam’s chest at their well-nigh clash.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Harry exclaimed, throwing a hand over his mouth. But Liam didn’t seem to care or hear as he merely gave Harry a little pad on the shoulder and then continued his run past him.

Alright, then.

Blinking in confusion, Harry shook his head a little and made his way up the stairs and into the apartment, the door having been left wide open. “Hello?” he called as he stepped into the corridor, looking around for a fire or a burglar or anything else that could have driven Liam to dash down the street half-naked in such a rush.

“Curly!” a voice called from the living room, and Harry followed it, nearly dropping the rest of his surviving beverages and pastries at the sight. Louis and Niall were leaning through the window, defying all laws of physics by not already tumbling out of it, their bottoms stretched out at the forward-leaning position. This did nothing for Harry’s reservations about this whole Louis thing, that was for sure.

Louis lifted a hand and waved him over, not averting his eyes from whatever it was they were watching outside the window. “C’mon, you don’t want to miss this.”

Curious, Harry stepped up to the window and squeezed himself into the space between Niall and the frame, holding up the scones and tea cups to them. “I love you very much for this, Harold,” Niall said, grabbing a scone and devouring it in one gulp like a cartoon character. “I was about to starve and found myself in the difficult position of having to choose between food and this,” he said, pointing at the street.

Harry finally followed their intent gazes to the street where he saw Liam standing in front of a baffled Zayn, the peach halo of the slowly setting sun over the rooftops.

Louis reached over Niall to grab his cup of tea and a scone, giving Harry a warm smile. “Thanks.” The sight of him made Harry realize with a small start just how far they had come from that secluded, broken, cold boy on the fire escape, surrounded by smoke; to this one: a smile as warm and eyes as bright as the sun around them. He resisted the urge to lean forward and push Louis’ hair back.

Louis’ and Niall’s smiles had turned into grins now, really enjoying the spectacle. Harry ripped his gaze away from them and instead looked down at Liam and Zayn standing awkwardly facing each other. Zayn’s mouth was agape, eyes behind his glasses round and unbelieving as Liam said something they couldn’t quite hear, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.

“What do you think he’s saying?” Niall, chewing on a piece of scone, asked.

“Zaynie, I like thou very much,” Louis supplied, matching his words to Liam’s lips. “I like thou so much I can even accept thy fortress of comic books and creepy-ass cats and the jungle of weed you have stored in thy room. In fact, maybe that’s what I like most about you and even though I’m a huge nerd who is not worthy of thy, who is also a huge nerd, just not as well disguised as me, I will always be there to keep you company.”

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Harry added with a small sigh, chewing absently on his pastry.

“Not very original, but I’ll go with it,” Louis said. “You must allow me to tell you how much you arouse and erect me, my darling,” he added, making Niall and Harry giggle around their scones.

“Thou make my cheeks bloom like a flower, make my stomach drift like an ocean, make my senses as weak as my heart when I fell for thou. There is none I would rather have nerdy conversations about supernatural heroes with. There is none I would rather get high as a kite with. There is none I would rather devote my soul and mind to. None I would rather let ruin my life. I shall love you forevermore.”

Harry and Louis looked at each other, chuckling. The last of the day’s sun streamed over them and fell across Louis’ face, lighting it up, turning his hair to warm auburn. His lips were quirked up in amusement, eyes gone to squinting as he peered back down at Liam and Zayn, because he probably needed glasses but was far too vain to ever wear them.

“What?” Louis asked, noticing Harry’s eyes still on him. “Have I got something on my face?” He brought his fingers to his cheeks as if looking for leftover scone crumbs.

Liam’s love declarations on the street melted into the background of Harry’s mind as it made space for his very own.

_I love you._

_I love the way you look right now with the sun catching in your hair, I love you all the time at any moment. I want nothing more than start kissing you fiercely and then never stop again. In the rain, against a wall, on a table, everywhere._

_Anytime I feel like I’m broken and numb, you’re the one thing that puts me back together by simply being there and saying what I need to hear because you know what it’s like. And I want to fix you, every part of you that’s broken and jagged, I want to fix._

_When you look at me, I feel like you’re touching my heart and running your finger along every cut and hole, caressing them as if those parts were also worth loving. I think I may have fallen way too deeply in love with you._

_And I did not even notice._

“Nothing.” Quickly, he looked back down at the spectacle.

On the street, Liam and Zayn merely stood there, the seconds dragging out like chewing gum.

Niall, Louis and Harry collectively held their breaths, then released them as Zayn threw back his head, a peal of loud laughter that had been locked somewhere deep in his narrow chest over the last twenty-three years broke free.

Liam stared at him and the laughter rising over their heads, then joined Zayn’s laughter, a little child-like giggle. The next moment, his arms were around Zayn’s shoulders, locking in their laughter with a fierce kiss.

The spectators squeezed into the window erupted into cheers, throwing left-over scone crumbs in the air as if they were at a football match and their favorite team had just scored the winning goal. It was quite a sight, those two boys on the street, one in a neon orange anorak, the other in pajama bottoms and barefoot.

Liam was holding Zayn’s head in between his hands as if it were something precious, black hair spilling out between his fingers.

Startled by the noise above them, the two bodies made one turned to them, grinning and waving like the Royal family passing through an adoring crowd. Zayn’s cheeks turned a shade of pink matching the sunset in the sky and he ducked his head slightly, a glowing grin on his face.

His bright eyes met Harry’s for a brief second, saying _I was wrong. Friends is not good enough at all. Not for me. Not for us_ , before his gaze slipped back to Liam and stayed there, before kissing him again, wrapping his arms around Liam’s broad shoulders.

Harry swallowed. For a split second, he looked back at Louis who was cupping his mouth with his hands, yelling “Get a room!” down at his friends.

The day’s final rays of sun tickled Harry’s skin, but failed to warm him. Something else did, deep in his chest.

-

The pub was hot, stuffy and crowded, all the students from the nearby community college having no other alternatives for their fun nights out than the small pub in the nearby town. Harry snaked his way through the crowd from the toilets to the counter. Having a wee in the room this whole Louis thing had started and not get flashbacks (leading to something very very inappropriate in a public restroom) had been one of the more difficult tasks Harry had been faced with in his life.

Louis and Niall were standing behind the counter serving drinks, Liam and Zayn sitting on the bar stools, kissing and giggling. They had all come here to celebrate the momentous occasion of Liam and Zayn’s five-hour-anniversary.

Zayn was even wearing Niall’s party hat from Louis’ birthday party, sitting askew on the top of his head, threatening to slide off his hair at the way he doubled over to laugh at Liam’s jokes and Liam's kiss and Liam’s everything. The words _In a committed, loving relationship for five hours_ were scribbled on it with black marker, adorned by a tiny drawing of Deadpool and Batman kissing.

While the two were enjoying themselves so tremendously, wrapped up in their own little bubble, and Niall and Louis were wiping surfaces and serving drinks, Harry felt like the literal fifth wheel. Very awkward and very misplaced. He had taken three trips to the toilet in the last fifteen minutes, just to look busy.

He slid back onto the bar stool beside Liam. As much as he was happy for the two of them, he really wished they could unglue at some point and start having conversations like normal humans again. Preferably with him. But this really was good. Deep down, Harry knew this wouldn’t change anything about their friendship. It had grown too strong for that.

Someone needed to be around to look out for Zayn and stop him from making Faustian deals or getting eaten alive by the deadly snake he would one day surely adopt and house in his bathtub. And Liam was the perfect guy for the job.

As much as he loved Zayn, Harry was glad the responsibility didn’t fall back on him. He’d never been good with snakes. Or grumpy naked cats (which was basically almost the same thing).

He turned around, sighing into his glass. Beside him, Liam had started tickling Zayn. And as much as he was a fan of public displays of affection and love all around, this was a little much even for him. Especially as it made him feel even more lonely and the distance between him the waiter serving drinks around the room even bigger.

The waiter whose dark fringe was flopping into his eyes before his slender fingers lightly pushed it back, grinning at something Niall said into his ear. Someone tapped on Louis’ shoulder and he turned around, leaning forward to listen to what the other guy with short dark hair was saying to him and Niall. Someone called for the bill at the back of the room and Niall hurried off, leaving only Louis and the other waiter, standing there with their trays held up.

The music playing from the speakers was so loud, Louis leaned even closer to the man whose nose was now almost touching Louis’ cheek. A twinge of jealousy bit at Harry. He knew how irrational and stupid it was, but he could not help the feeling.

His eyes lingered on the two, even as Louis laughed and put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. Harry knew he should be glad about Louis laughing, being happy, being carefree, something that had been so sparse when Harry first met him and the walls constructed so high around him. And he was. He really was.

Still, something heavy was lying in his stomach, making him feel like the worst human-being to have ever walked the earth.

“Hey, H.” The voice startled him from his thoughts and he turned his head, seeing Zayn perched on the barstool beside him. Liam was snaking his way through the bulk of tables and people in the small room to the toilet sign.

“Am I a horrible human-being?” Harry asked, looking down at his drink.

“No,” Zayn replied chastely, rolling his own glass between his palms. The birthday-turned- five-hour-anniversary hat still sat on his head, now almost at a ninety-degree angle to the top. “Quite the opposite. You’re actually a disgustingly good person, so good it can actually be vaguely infuriating. I should know as I am one as well.”

Harry chuckled quietly, instantly feeling better. “I love you, Z.”

“You know I love you too, H,” Zayn stated soberly. “And I love Liam. Very much. At least I already like him so much that I’m standing on the doorstep of love. I think that maybe in five more minutes, I will love him with everything I am. And in ten, I will never want to be with another person again. And in a year, who knows. But I’m positive there is no limit.”

Harry chuckled a bit harder. “Believe me, I can tell. Everyone here can.”

Zayn angled his head to the side, the hat sliding a bit further down. Harry reached out and righted it again.

“I presume there’s a reason for your question,” Zayn said. “And I presume it has to do with unrequited love?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Harry sighed.

“Well, speaking from the experience of five hours,” Zayn supplied, “Love can’t be pushed down. Not forever. At some point, it finds a way. Always does. It leaks, or bursts, or explodes, or percolates... But in some way, it gets out. You can of course try to ignore it and mash it down, but it needs to escape and make itself known in some way. A real supernova. But you,” he pointed a finger in Harry’s face. “You need to choose whether you want to risk it exploding at some point or risk losing that person. That person being something akin to your best friend these days. Besides me, of course."

Harry blew out a long, deep breath. “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

“It’s not,” Zayn replied, eyes fixing on something over Harry’s shoulder. His lips quirked up in a smile. “It may seem that way, but actually, it’s simple. Everything in between is complicated. This isn’t.”

Liam returned from the toilets, giving Zayn’s arm a light squeeze with a smile. Jealousy nibbled at Harry. Why couldn’t he have this with Louis? What made them different? Their distinct not-alright-ness, probably. Their pasts and their futures and everything in between. And the ticking time-bomb over their heads, counting down the days until one of them would inevitably hurt once again. Hurt himself, hurt the other.

Harry turned back to his drink and finished its contents in one go, then got off the chair and made his way to the bathroom once again. Apparently he really had had quite a few drinks as he noticed the room swaying ever-so-slightly under his feet. He headed for one of the mint-green painted bathroom stalls, next to the one him and Louis had kissed in. The bathroom doors were propped open by doorstop. The lock was seemingly still broken.

He closed the stall door behind him, the loud noises from the pub thrumming in his ears. His legs felt weak and he slid down the scribbled wall, feeling tired and sad. His fingers were splayed on the floor. On the tiles. White tiles. Bathroom tiles.

_White bathroom tiles. Moons._

His breathing sharpened in his throat, daring to cut through his skin. The noise from the pub was drowned out by static in his ears, as if he was underwater, drowning, treading through cold black water. The walls swayed and closed in, watching him, tightening, stretching.

Harry ripped his palms from the floor and put them on either side of his head, pulling on the roots of his hair, trying to regain control of the world and his brain. His lungs tightened with fear. He needed to do something, stop this.

His hands struggled to find something to deviate, to calm, hurriedly scrambling and frantically searching- then landed on an object in the back pocket of his trousers. A sharpie. He had put it there today during rehearsals, then forgot to return it to James. Shaking faintly, he uncapped it and set the black tip on the wall opposite him.

For a second, he hesitated, then moved the sharpie over the wall with frantic, shaky fingers; writing what he needed to hear. With each letter, his hand and muscles stilled and calmed, letters going from askew and scrawly to deliberate and smooth.

_Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

He lifted the tip of the pen from the wall and looked at Dylan Thomas’s words shining in the gloomy light of the stall in between phone numbers, drawings of extremities and Instagram handles. His breathing steadied, the white static in his ears silencing.

But he was not done yet. Before he could help himself, his hand slid down the wall and wrote the thoughts spinning and pirouetting through his head; slow and determined.

 _Why are you making up my thoughts and soul and heart and body? Why can’t I help being made up of you? Why don’t I feel like stopping it?_ _How can a person just spin the world on its axis and let it revolve upside-down and backwards?_

Exhaling, he leaned back against the wall and stared at the words taken straight from his system and brain to this dirty bathroom stall wall in small and narrow letters. The words stared back at him questioningly, accusingly, black and complicated. Or simple, as Zayn had said.

He did not know how much time he spent staring at the words, at his mind displayed in a few sim crude letters and sentences. The inevitable heartbreak in them.

Eventually, he fought his way back up to a standing position and went back into the pub room, away from his vandalism in the bathroom stall, where he paused against the wall next to a group of laughing uni students. Over the heads of the sitting people in the room, he saw Louis saying something to Niall, then waving the other waiter he had talked to before over. The waiter smiled and went over to Louis who lead him through the door onto the street.

Confused, Harry threaded his way through the tables to Niall, standing behind the counter. He swallowed. “Where did Louis go?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

Niall poured a round of beer into big pints. “He went upstairs with Calvin.”

Harry felt his face tighten and his stomach clench like a fist, then immediately felt pathetic and stupid for it. Louis could do whatever he wanted to. “Oh, alright,” he replied, sliding onto a stool.

Niall looked up, something indecipherable written across his features. “He should be down soon, though.”

“That’s okay,” said Harry lightly, giving Niall a smile. Niall smiled back encouragingly then took the pints and brought them to a table across the room.

Something slid into Harry’s line of sight on the dark counter, pushed there by a slender dark hand. Harry almost had to laugh at the object Zayn had slid over to him without words. A shot glass, filled with white liquid. “Thanks,” he grumbled, taking the glass and knocking back its contents with a wince. A warm buzz was starting to take the edge off his headache.

Zayn turned back to Liam who had an arm slung gently around his shoulder, holding him like something precious. They were discussing which superheroes would win in a fight against each other, completely enhanced by the other. Harry was alone. He refilled his glass and drank it, feeling a rush of light-headedness. He was doing stupid things. He was being stupid. But however stupid the pain in his chest was, it was still very real and existent and Harry wanted - needed - it gone. So, this was what Louis had felt like. That night he had kissed Harry, every night before that. He got it now.

Behind him, people were now gathering on the small dancefloor, writhing and rotating like snakes in a basket. Unsteadily Harry stood up, then nearly collapsed again as the world turned carousel, his ears roaring. Oops. Apparently he had had drunk more than he’d realized, mostly out of boredom, but partly out of being-in-love-with-goddamn-Louis-Tomlinson-syndrome.

He joined the people on the miniature dance floor, losing himself in everything that made him forget about Louis in the flat above him with another boy who wasn’t him.

-

“Harry was looking for you earlier.”

Louis looked up from the counter at Niall. “Why?”

Niall shrugged.

“What did you tell him?” asked Louis.

“That you went upstairs with Calvin. I think he may have come to the wrong conclusions.”

“Shit,” Louis muttered under his breath. “Did he say anything?” There was no denying the hope in the words he couldn’t push down. “You know… About me and Calvin?”

Niall didn’t have to say anything for Louis know the answer.

“Oh. Okay.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. Of course Harry didn’t care about who Louis was supposedly sleeping with. Why the fuck would he? Why would he? “Where is he now?”

Again, Niall shrugged. “Didn’t see him for a while.” He looked up, ready to deliver the next set of pints in this endless cycle of wiping surfaces, pouring drinks and carrying trays to sticky tables waiting to be cleaned. “Oh. Found him.”

Louis followed his gaze into the dancing crowd, trying to find Harry in the throng. “What whe- Oh.” His lips parted slightly at the sight, surprised.

Harry was in the center of the dancing crowd, about five people sliding their bodies against his, touching him on his shoulders, his stomach, his arms. His eyes were closed, an empty glass in one hand.

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

Niall’s eyebrows shot up. “Fuck indeed.”

Harry seemed like a being from another world, dancing there with his lavender-colored blouse dotted with white stars, black jeans and brown boots, hair disheveled and wild, gently brushing his collarbones and shoulders. Warm, merry, beautiful and untouchable, topped off with his keen, extravagant sense of fashion hiding everything else behind his artificial smile and handsome features.

Louis felt like he had picked off the gilded paint around him one scratch at a time, but then there were moments when he realized how much more there was to him. Something else Harry had not told him yet - had maybe not told anyone yet. This boy was not as fine as he always pretended so well to be. Deep down, he was as broken as Louis. He had mended Louis, at least partly, had breathed life and joy back into his life, had made his heart start beating again, his blood start flowing, and now all Louis wanted was to return the favor.

“Your thoughts are R-rated right now, aren’t they?” said Niall beside him.

Louis crossed his arms over his chest. “No, they’re not. Completely child-friendly content up there.”

Niall’s lips quirked up in amusement. As he took up the trays waiting to be brought to the tables, Louis glanced back at the scene on the dancefloor. The girls around Harry beamed at him as he charmed them with his perfect, beautiful words, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.

Louis brought the drinks to the waiting tables, trying in vain to keep his eyes off Harry which resulted in him almost spilling the contents of a large pint over a very angry man’s head. Ashamed and tired, he made his way back to the counter where Niall was waiting for him, glancing back at Harry with a concerned look. “I think we should do something. That doesn’t look like shits and giggles anymore. He’s really drunk.”

Louis stared at Harry ponderingly, the hand he was wiping the surface of the counter with slowly stilling.

“Stop thinking so much, I can smell your brain burning from here,” Niall said, throwing a rag at his face, snapping Louis out of his reverie.

Louis picked the towel from his face and tossed it back at Niall’s chest. “Can you cover shift for me for a bit?” he asked. “I know it’s a lot going on tonight, but I think there’s something wrong with Harry.”

Before he could even fully finish, Niall had already nodded, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Go on,” he said, jerking his chin at the dance floor. “Get him out of here.”

Louis nodded gratefully, already shrugging on his jacket he had had stored under the counter.

“Oh, and Tommo?”

Louis looked up at Niall. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t take him up to our flat. I saw Liam and Zayn go up there a few minutes ago. And I have an inkling that they would not like to be disturbed, nor do I think you would like to hear that.”

Louis huffed a small laugh, squeezing Niall’s shoulder. “Got it. Thanks, Nialler.”

“Hurry up, though. There really is a lot to do tonight. And I’m not sure how much longer Harry can stay on that dancefloor without throwing up.”

Louis turned around, but Niall, carrying a tray in each hand turned back to him once more. “Are you really not going to tell him? I can’t go through this stupid longing-from-afar nonsense for a second time. It was already hard enough with Liam, and look how that ended up. That’s good prescience, isn’t it?”

Louis chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking up at his friend. “What is the main thing in love?”

“Is that a riddle?”

“It’s a quote. Marina Tsvetaeva. My mother loved her works, and she once told me this one when she had a crush on the postman.”

Niall looked at him, listening and understanding him as he always had. “So, what is it? What is the main thing in love?”

“'To know and to hide. To know about the one that you love and to hide that you love.' I don’t want to hurt him. Not more than I already have.”

“You do you, Tommo. But I think the main thing in love is simply to love. To say it and to live it, get your heart broken, and then do it all over again.” With that, he turned around and threaded his way to the awaiting table.

Heart beating heavily in his chest, Louis walked toward the crowd that had swallowed Harry up, filling the entire middle part of the tiny pub room. He moved through the bodies, searching for a blue shirt, for familiar green eyes. There he was. Two girls had their arms slung around his neck and shoulders, making Louis’ stomach sting with jealousy and guilt.

He should have stopped this before it had come to this point. He wanted to know what had made Harry do this. At that moment, Harry turned around to him, spotting Louis standing before him. Something briefly passed over his face. “Lou!” he slurred, taking a stumbling step toward him. The girls squeezing themselves to his sides threw Louis annoyed glances, then peeled off Harry’s sides and vanished into the throng around them.

Louis blew out a breath. “Curly. What happened?”

Harry’s teeth worried at his bottom lip, his cheeks pink and glowing from the alcohol and the heat. His voice was quiet as he replied. “I couldn’t stare at the bathroom tiles any longer.”

Louis’ brows furrowed and he took another step toward Harry, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

A shadow crossed Harry’s face and Louis thought he may say something, but in the end, he just shook his head, biting his lip. Louis didn’t push further, even though he had to fight off the curiosity. “You’re a mystery to me, Curly.”

“So were you to me,” said Harry. “But I figured you out.” He pointed a finger at Louis’ chest. “I figured you out, Louis Tomlinson. And you’re not used to that.”

Louis regarded him, unsettled. Drunk Harry was even more complicated than normal Harry. Harry started swaying from side to side, always threatening to lose balance and topple over. His shoulders moved up and down as he lifted his arms, dancing drunkenly. He started giggling. Actual fucking giggles that were so _Harry_ , Louis’ throat constricted. Actual giggles. And Louis was so lost for this. For him.

“Was he better than me?”

Louis blinked. “What?”

Harry giggled again, stumbling a bit over his own feet. “Was that guy you just took up to your flat better than me?”

Louis started shaking his head. “He wasn’t… We weren’t… That was Calvin. A friend of mine. He really likes the Rogue, but he couldn’t get off work for their gig, so I showed him that shirt I bought at the bar. You know, the one that says _The Rogue – Professional quote thieves_. That’s it. I would never – He’s straight. And a good friend.”

“Oh. Sorry. That’s… good. That’s good,” replied Harry, the last word dripping off his booze-thickened tongue. His eyelids fell shut for a second and he lost balance, brows creasing.

Louis quickly slung an arm around his torso, steadying him. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Harry’s eyelids closed again and the side of his head fell lightly against Louis’. “You don’t understand. I already am.”

There was something wrong with Louis’ lungs. Every breath filled them with pins and needles. “I know, but Zayn and Liam are up there at the moment and I don’t have the desire to interrupt them in whatever they’re doing up there, so I’ll bring you to your aunt’s.”

Harry’s next words were barely anything more than a whisper and had he not been so close to Louis, he wouldn’t have heard him. “No… that’s not what I mean.”

Louis partly carried, partly dragged, partly pushed Harry in the direction of the doors, forcing his muscles to move because he thought his organs might have caught fire. They exited the stuffy pub, stepping into the cautiously warm air outside.

Reluctantly and relieved, Louis dared to let go of Harry’s shoulders, giving his lungs space and air to fill and empty. “Better?” he asked, hoping the fresh air would clean Harry’s drunken mind just a little bit. And his own. He needed to think clearly again.

Eyes closed, Harry nodded, strands of his dark hair dancing in the light breeze, caressing his skin.

“Alright, let’s go,” said Louis. “It’s not far.”

Harry stumbled a bit as he tried to walk, and Louis quickly caught him. He kept his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I’ve got you.” Eyes so green they made every other color pale and dissolve.

A boozy exhale escaped Harry’s lips, momentarily lifting a curl that immediately fell into his eyes again. Their faces were so close Louis felt the breath warm against his face, smell the still underlying scent of vanilla on Harry’s skin.

Oh help.

Help, help, help.

Louis watched his fingers reach up toward Harry’s face as if they belonged to someone else. Surely this wasn’t his hand gently pushing back one of Harry’s curls? Puzzled, he watched as Harry raised his own hand to his, catching it there against his cheek.

They stood like that for a moment, and that moment was sweet torture. Something in the back of Louis’ mind screamed and writhed, telling him to stop; but the seemingly simple act of stopping - of dropping his hand, was sheer impossible. Not with Harry’s skin so soft under his fingers, his scent so sweet in Louis’ nose, his eyes so gentle and kind on Louis’ own. This was it. This could be it.

He was very aware of himself, of his own lungs filling and emptying, of his teeth pressing against his tongue. Watching as the world focused and narrowed in on this one boy. This one boy. This beacon. This flicker of light.

Harry’s hand still cupped Louis’ wrist gently, holding it against his cheeks, breathing heavily. Now he lifted his other hand to cup Louis’ face. They were so close, and Harry leaned even closer as if pulled by a magnet, falling forward, slowly, slowly… Touch. The barest softness of lips.

Their lips brushed – a bare caress of the mouth, like the gentle tickle of a feather or a snowflake. But. But. But.

No.

Not like this.

Not again.

Never again.

Never again would he do this to him.

Never again would he hurt him, especially not in this state, not thinking or functioning clearly.

Everything in Louis, every last molecule and cell and atom fought against it, yearned to press his mouth tighter to Harry’s, to close the last remaining space between them and wrap him up and be wrapped up in him and be warm and safe with him - but he pulled back, gently letting his hand drop from Harry’s cheek. Not like this.

“We should get you home,” he breathed, unable to lift his voice above anything more than a whisper. He did not have enough strength for that. He freed his hand and arms from Harry and stepped away. “Wait here. I’ll get Niall’s car.” Harry didn’t respond, only stood there on the street, looking beautiful and lost. Lost boy.

Reluctantly, Louis hurried to Niall’s car around the corner and (after a few desperate attempts at getting the engine motivated enough to get the car rolling) pulled up beside Harry on the curb, opening the passenger door to let him in. “C’mon, Harry. Get in.”

“Ay ay,” Harry slurred. He tried to salute, lost his balance, and banged into a garbage can beside him on the curb. “Shhh.”

Louis suppressed a grin. “You’re impossible, Styles.” _Impossible to look away from_.

Harry practically fell into the car but Louis caught his shoulder, steadying him so he could climb onto his seat properly. Louis reached to buckle Harry up and their hands brushed quickly, making shivers travel up Louis’ arm. Once again, Louis asked himself how ‘Bathroom tiles’ could be a solid reason for Harry to get this drunk.

He set the car into motion, maneuvering his way carefully through the dark streets, golden lights falling onto the street from the windows above. Glancing briefly to the passenger seat, Louis saw that Harry was fast asleep, forehead resting against the window pane.

They reached Mrs. Clarke’s small apartment building and Louis unbuckled Harry, then carefully shook his shoulder. Harry blinked awake slowly, gripping Louis’ arm as he heaved him out the car and all but carried him to the front door where he fished for the keys in Harry’s coat pockets.

The journey up the stairs turned out to be the most workout Louis had done in years and he was sweaty and out of breath once they reached the landing to the right flat. “Bloody hell, you’re heavy,” he panted, silently unlocking the door so he wouldn’t wake Harry’s family.

The flat was quiet and dark, the dim light from the stairwell painting the carpet in a square of light. Louis once again looped his arm along Harry’s torso and helped him find the way to his room. Harry was groaning slightly, like the purring of a cat, his hot breath coloring Louis’ cheek.

In the doorway to Harry’s room, they halted and Louis thought Harry might throw up, but he merely leaned heavily against the doorframe, resting his head against it as if he was too tired and exhausted to hold it on his neck and shoulders. His long legs threatened to give way under him and Louis eased him the rest of the way onto the mattress.

Harry was asleep before his head even touched the pillow, chest rising and falling in a deep tide.

The only illumination in the room was the moon peaking shyly through the window, throwing shadows on Harry’s face, cutting deep angles and softening smooth curves. His mouth was open and tiny snores escaped. “You are not a delicate sleeper, Harry,” Louis grumbled as he tucked Harry in.

His hands fell away and he registered his breathing slowing at the sight of this peaceful, troubled boy with so many secrets and mysteries hiding underneath his moonlit skin. Louis’ heartbeat pulsed in his hands with the desire to reach out and trace the shadows on his skin with his fingertips. The fragility of his eyelids. The seams of his mouth. The small mole near his chin.

“You fucking terrify me,” Louis breathed into the dark. “I can’t seem to keep you out like everyone else. I think you could devastate me.”

Another tiny snore came from Harry’s mouth, making the corners of Louis’ mouth twitch up, shaking his head. _I would gladly let myself be devastated by you_.

For a moment, Louis remembered the night he had spent in Harry’s bed and as he recalled the feel of his body’s warmth against his when they had lain side by side, all he wanted was to lay down beside him; to just draw Harry to him and tuck him against himself and hold him.

Loosing a quiet sigh, Louis leaned forward and planted a kiss on the top of Harry’s messy head, lips catching in the stray curls that had appeared thanks to the heat and sweat. “Sweet dreams, Curly.”

With that, he left the flat and made his way back to the lively, thrumming pub, feeling as if he had left a piece of himself behind in that room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! :)
> 
> I hope you have a great day/night! <3


	16. Long Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry almost commits a crime and Louis is deeply harrowed once again.

 

_Song(s):_

_"10,000 Emerald Pools" - Borns_

_"The Devil's Tears" - Angus & Julia Stone_

 

If there had even been the possibility of a benevolent God, that possibility was now definitely, with one hundred percent certainty, thoroughly, gone.

And if there was a God, he certainly took a liking in tormenting Louis William Tomlinson, because otherwise he never would have innocently and in semi-good spirits walked up the stairs to his apartment where he, unknowing of the approaching terror, fixed himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, nodding his head along to the music playing from his headphones, then walked into the living room, where the volume of the music in his earphones was not loud enough to drown out the unmistakable grunts and moans of frenzied sex.

The thing with sound is that it normally reaches one’s ears at the same time as the vision does, and in this case, it took Louis a full three seconds of angling his head to the side to completely register what exactly these noises disrupting the sweet tones of Oasis were. The realization hit him at the same time as he reached the couch and saw with his own two eyes what exactly was producing these inhumane grunts.

So, one of his roommates was having sex in his apartment. Cool. He had walked in on Niall doing much worse things at uni more than once.

Okay. Fine. Whatever. Completely understandable.

What he was not fine with, however, was the fact that this was not only one of his friends, but two, and that they were performing their business on their lovely new leather couch, not even a meter away from Louis unprotected, very much seeing eyes.

The thing that made Louis lose all lingering shred of belief in a higher form of mercy or meaning, was the sight of two of his best friends – Zayn, wearing nothing but his small party hat (which was now a two-days-anniversary hat); and Liam, wearing nothing but his earth-given skin – violating the perfectly comfortable couch Louis spent most evenings (and afternoons, and mornings) on.

Half a second was all it took for the sight of those two sweaty naked bodies occupying Louis’ loved natural habitat to unendingly burn itself into Louis’ memory.

Which was, according to all definitions and translations and interpretations of the word, definitely not okay. Not even a little bit.

So, now Louis had one more trauma to pile atop all the other ones. Fantastic. Bless.

When he closed his eyes, he still saw the flashes of dark pubic hair and Zayn’s hands gripping Liam’s shoulder blades. And not in a good way. This got no enjoyment out of him, only shock and post traumatic stress disorder. There was no way he would ever, ever again touch a millimeter of that once lovely and inviting leather couch.

In had taken half a second for Zayn to spot Louis standing above them with an open mouth, milk and cereal pooling around his feet where he had dropped his bowl in shock. Zayn’s eyes had widened, but Louis had already taken flight, escaping into his room and shutting the door loudly and firmly behind him.

Liam and Zayn had knocked on his door repeatedly for a while, apologizing, saying they didn’t know he’d be home so early from work. Eventually, Louis had cracked open the door a little to accept their apology, but the realization that neither of them had bothered to get dressed had sent the lock back in place very quickly.

After another few knocks, Zayn and Liam had given up and instead chosen to resume what Louis had so abruptly interrupted them in, this time in Liam’s room.

The walls in the apartment were not very thick ones, as Louis soon found out.

After a while of Louis blasting music through his ear pods to drown out the noise, the door to his room opened once again and this time, it was Niall, thankfully fully clothed. Cautiously, Louis took out his ear pods, then sighed in relief at the sweet tones of silence.

“I sent them over to Zayn’s,” Niall grinned, sitting down on Louis’ mattress. “Use the time there they have left there.” Zayn’s parents were set to return from their extended stay in Pakistan in a few days, enough time for Zayn and Liam of them to go at it on each innocent surface of the house. Each surface that was not located in Louis’ apartment.

“Oh, thank God,” Louis sighed. “I will burn that couch, mark my words.”

“You will not burn the couch.”

“Watch me.”

Louis did not burn the couch.

Niall threw himself over him, tackling him on the bed until Louis couldn’t breathe anymore and abhorrently admitted defeat, promising to leave the couch intact. Niall eyed him suspiciously, then slowly released him again.

Louis immediately scrambled for his phone, looking if he had received any new messages.

“Has Harry still not written back yet?” asked Niall, stretching out his legs over Louis’ mattress.

The five-hour-anniversary had been two days ago, and Louis had not heard anything from Harry since then, despite having sent him some mildly concerned but still (obviously) very hilarious messages. Louis shook his head, looking down at the blank phone screen.

“Huh. That’s weird,” said Niall. “Did anything happen when you brought him home? Did you get into a row?”

Louis hesitated. “No, not exactly. He was way too drunk to have a row, for a start. He couldn't even stand properly.”

Niall crossed his arms, giving him a dreading look. “Spill.”

Louis groaned, throwing his head back into his pillow. He clamped his lips shut. Niall shook his shoulder. “Tommo! You wanted my help, didn’t you? Oh, Niall Horan, you wise Irish love god, I require your advice in the matters of my heart.”

“I don’t recall those words coming out of my mouth.”

“Didn’t have to. I saw them written in your eyes. And now spit it out.”

“No.” Louis held his lips clamped for another few seconds, holding his breath, before exhaling heavily and sitting up. “We kissed.”

Niall blinked, then dropped onto the bed, throwing his hands over his face. “Oh, Tommo. Tommo, Tommo, Tommo.” He sat up again, glaring at Louis. “He was drunk!”

“And that’s why I pulled away and didn’t kiss him. But he wanted to; he went in for the kiss. And what if… he likes me, Niall?”

“Then asks him.” Niall was clearly very frustrated with the matters of Louis' heart by now.

Louis remembered Harry’s hot breath against his skin, the soft brush of his lips on Louis’, his fingers gently encircling Louis’ wrist, holding his hand against his cheek. He felt like he was walking with a tightrope under his feet, threatening to lose balance and fall with each step he took forward. And it was such a very long way down.

He knew Harry had been drunk, had not been thinking straight and yet his mind still gnawed at the words he had whispered. _I figured you out, Louis Tomlinson_.

Some people, you know from the very first moment you see them: they are the one - we will be friends forever- it just kind of happens, and you instantly jump into their arms. But other people, you would never have thought that they would one day mean so much to you.

A lot of times those were the most important people. And if it weren’t for some chance encounter or fate or a theatre group you both attended, you never would have found out that they are the one for you. And he was.

Harry Styles was the one for him. The knowledge was anchored deeply within Louis.

And know all he wanted was to tell him and then sweep him off his feet and never worry about anything ever again. Admittedly, the laws of aerodynamics and both their physiques would have the sweeping thing go the other way around, but there was no way Louis’ rather petite physique would stop him from picking up the boy he loved with the passion of a hundred fires.

Hell, he would defy all laws of physics for Harry Styles and he would do it with ease.

At that moment, Louis’ phone buzzed, snapping him out of his ambitious thoughts. He and Niall both leaned forward as one, looking down at Louis’ phone.

_I’m fine, thanks. H._

“Well,” Niall sighed, leaning back. “That was anticlimactic.”

Louis picked up his phone, frowning at the clipped text in confusion.

He was sure what it meant to say was _I’m so lucky to have you in my life. You are the best person I have ever known and I want nothing more than to drown in your baby-blue eyes and kiss you until the rest of the world ceases to exist_.

Damn autocorrect.

“Wow, that kiss must’ve been really impressive,” Niall sniggered.

Louis flipped him off. “I told you, we didn’t kiss. But we almost did.” He set the phone down on the blanket, staring out the window with determination. “I’m going to tell him.”

“You sure?” Niall asked doubtfully.

“He makes a disaster of me, Niall. He makes a disaster of my heart and my lips and my mind. And I can’t take it any longer.”

Niall patted his shoulder. “You already were a disaster before you met Harry, don't worry.”

Ignoring him, Louis got off the bed and grabbed his jacket. Fuck the tightrope- he was already a falling man and he didn’t know what was waiting for him on the ground. Maybe there was non. Maybe he would simply never stop falling. Or maybe he had reached the ground a long time ago.

-

Harry stumbled into the living room that afternoon with pillow lines all over his face, a creased poetry book in his hand, and no trousers. This was the state he had spent his last two days in, doing nothing but watching Nicholas Sparks movies, reading pretentious novels, and bathing in shame and pity.

Every time the memory of him dancing like a toddler who had learnt how to walk only a few hours ago seized him, his cheeks started burning and he buried his nose deeper in the pages of his book, hoping to find escape there. He had barely replied to any text and not once left his house, too ashamed of what he might have done.

Well, this coping mechanism was now over, he realized as he entered the living room separating him from the glorious refuge of the kitchen and its domiciled fridge.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Louis was sitting on the couch, Harry’s cousin Jack beside him… talking? Talking to Louis. What were they talking about?

Harry slowly backed away, taking quiet step after step back into his room to sort out his thoughts, maybe make a daring escape through the window, maybe lock himself in his closet.

He had almost reached the safety of the doorframe when his naked foot collided with something very furry, very soft, and very angry. The thing shrieked, matching its desperate meow to Harry’s yell of shock and terror as he tripped backwards, scrambling for halt.

He had always known all those cats would one day be the death of him. It had been inevitable, really.

Turned out, his time to see the light had not come yet as his fingers found leverage on the doorframe, stopping him from falling backward and breaking his neck. Which, now that he thought about it, was maybe the better option, given what had been supposed to be an inconspicuous escape was now not very inconspicuous anymore.

Louis’ and Jack’s heads had snapped around at the sudden shrieks of Harry and the cat (which was now strutting away from Harry, mortally offended).

Louis’ face lit. “Curly! There you are.”

Suddenly Harry was hyper-aware of his greasy hair and the compromising position his shorts had arranged themselves in. “Oh… Hi,” he said, breathless. “What are you doing here?”

If Louis had noticed Harry’s semi-decayed state, he did not show it. He stood up, taking a step toward him. “I, um, I just wanted to see how you were. You know, after… last time.”

Oh god. So Louis had seen him. Just what he had dreaded so much. “I, yeah, I’m good,” he said, nodding vigorously.

Louis looked at him as if he expected him so say something else, something Harry could have sworn was… hope glinting in his eyes. But all Harry could think was how embarrassing all this was.

After a few seconds of them only standing in front of each other in silence, Harry sprang into motion again and stepped into his room, this time not almost brutally murdering a cat on his way, Louis following behind him.

“Did I… Did I do anything?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Something very embarrassing?”

He sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his arms. Louis blinked, lips parting. “Wait, you don’t,” - he cleared his throat – “You don’t remember?”

Was that disappointment in his voice? Why would he be disappointed?

Harry closed his eyes and sucked in his lips, shaking his head in embarrassment. He felt his cheeks warming. “I only remember Zayn and Liam being very much in love and then my dancing very badly with a lot of people I don’t know. Or at least I hope I don’t know them. I found some numbers on my phone yesterday from people I’ve never heard of before.” He opened his eyes, peering up at Louis. “I didn’t do anything, did I?”

For the last few days, the dreadful thought of him saying something to Louis – something he would be very sorry for once he saw him again – had occupied his mind, making him barricade in his room.

Louis hesitated, making Harry’s heart beat rapidly in his chest with anticipation, then slowly shook his head. “Nope. Nothing weird. Or at least,” – he sat down next to Harry on the bed – “Not any weirder than your usual self, only a bit more slurry and with even less balance and ability to walk in a straight line.”

Harry exhaled a breath he had been holding for 48 hours. “Good,” he sighed. “That’s good. I was already scared we’d repeated the events from That night and this time, I couldn’t recall any of it.”

After a short pause, Louis laughed lightly. “No inappropriate stranger-danger sex this time, don’t worry,” he said.

Yeah, sadly, Harry thought, then immediately wanted to delete the thought from his brain. They sat in silence for a few seconds, before Harry thought of something. “Hey, what were you talking to my cousin about? I’ve never been able to hold a conversation longer than thirty seconds with him. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Louis replied, looking at Harry. His blue eyes were as clear and dazzling as the sky. “He’s angry. That’s normal. The world hasn’t been fair to him.”

“I know… It’s not fair. He’s too young to have experienced all that. He really misses his parents, I think.” He looked up. “Is that what you talked about?” Immediately after the words had left his mouth, he wanted to drag them back and pretend he’d never said them.

He bit his lips, but Louis only smiled and nodded. “Yeah. He had a lot to say and I knew how he was feeling. He’s a really nice boy.”

Harry’s heart seemed to expand with adoration. In that moment, it was incredibly hard to keep silent – to force his hands to stay in his lap, not bury in Louis’ hair of pull him closer. “Thanks – For talking to him.”

“It’s easy to listen to someone you understand.”

Harry smiled again. “Thanks anyway.” His eyes caught on the small triangle of freckles on Louis’ cheek, fine as a sift of cinnamon and Harry found himself wanting to touch them, touch them one by one, tracing the contour of his cheeks, letting his finger drift down to his lips…

“You’ll never believe what happened today.”

Harry looked up, dazzled and disorientated, snapping out of his embarrassing daydreams. “Huh?” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Whiskers took in his true form and grew horns?”

Louis chuckled. “Not yet. But this morning, I innocently entered the apartment and saw Liam and Zayn going at it hard on the couch. God’s honest truth. I even dropped my cereal in shock.”

Harry blinked, then burst out laughing. He quickly threw his hands over his mouth, but it was helpless. The laughter did not ebb off. Giggles shook his body and he released his hands from his lips and pressed them to his stomach, falling backward onto the mattress.

“It’s true,” Louis continued, watching Harry with a quirk in his lips. “I can never watch porn again. That sight destroyed it all for me. As much as I love them and as much as both of them are handsome lads, I did not want to see that. Especially on my couch. The leather couch, I might add.”

Harry laughed harder, buckling and pulling up his legs.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Louis put a hand on his chest. “I am deeply harrowed.”

As much as he pretended not to, Harry saw his trying to rein in his own laughter. Harry laughed harder, unable to stop and that was all it took for Louis to lose his composure too, laughter bubbling up from his chest. Soon he was lying on foot of the bed beside Harry, both of them laughing uncontrollably.

Harry wiped tears from the corner of his eye, laughter slowing like rain going from pouring and hammering to the ground to a soft drizzle. His stomach hurt. “Ouch,” he said, putting a hand on it.

He rolled his head to the side, looking at Louis whose black jumper had slid to the side, exposing the hollow of his collarbone. Last laughs were softly shaking his stomach, crinkles at the corners of his eyes etched deep and long into his skin. “I guess it had to happen at some point,” he said. “I mean, it was inevitable right? With us living in such close quarters.”

“I just think you should count yourself lucky Niall wasn’t bored and decided to join. Now, _that_ would’ve been harrowing.”

That was all it took for both of them to lose it again.

-

The room smelled of dusty old stage costumes and stale hairspray. Harry’s favorite smell (among… other things, of course). Things like Louis’ hair when Harry hugged him, his breath when Harry had kissed him, his-

“Harold! There you are.”

Harry turned to see James hurrying toward him, an excited smile on his face. It was the final day of rehearsals, the final time doing this before the show on Sunday. Harry already felt an excited drumbeat in his chest at the thought.

The doors to the large wardrobe beside Harry were open, and James absently brushed lint from the colorful costumes inside. “You ready for Sunday?”

Harry ran a finger down one of the prop sabers. “I can’t wait.”

Zayn appeared behind James, tapping his shoulder. James stopped mid-brush, turning around to Zayn. “I designed some programs like you asked me to,” Zayn said shyly, extending a small leaflet with hand-drawn caricatures on it.

Harry leaned over James’ shoulder to get a better look at the program. Liam appeared behind Zayn, resting his chin on his bony shoulder. Zayn leaned into the embrace, seemingly relaxing, a smile softening his features.

Harry lowered his eyes to the pamphlet again, looking at the very short list of programs and the actor list, his own name somewhere in the middle, gleaming proudly and promisingly. James closed the program to look at the cover which was where Zayn’s input came in. He had drawn some of the main characters in comic book style – all sharp angles and shadows- , making them all look like long lost heroes.

There was Niall as Wendy Darling, grinning brightly with a spark in his eyes that could make your day better even through the realms of a piece of paper; Liam as Michael, holding his ‘older brother’s’ Zayn’s hand whose glasses sat askew on his nose, a dreamy and absent look in his big dark eyes that caught Zayn’s expression so well it was almost spooky.

And then there was Peter – Louis – with his hands on his hips, smiling mischievously, like sunlight glittering through a spider’s web. Beside him Harry saw himself and what he saw made his eyes sting.

Tinkerbell was drawn by Peter’s side, throwing him a sleepy, conspiratorial look with a smirk while throwing a handful of, as this was still a drawing by Zayn, black glitter over his head. His other hand was holding on to Louis’, the smallest bond in the shadows on the drawing.

“It’s amazing, Z,” he aspirated in awe.

“Thanks,” Zayn replied. “Li and I printed a few of them, so we could scatter them across the town.” He pointed at a suitcase behind him and Liam leaned down to open it.

The insides made Harry’s jaw drop. “Wow, you two really have your own idea of what ‘a few’ means,” he said, staring down at the vast mountains of programs. “The town’s not even big enough for all these.”

He looked up at James who only beamed proudly. “That’s great, boys.” There really was nothing in the world that could dampen James’s mood or make him question things. His attention was diverted to the stage, where Clare and Adam struggled with the large canvas flat of the Darling home. It wobbled and threatened to fall over. James hurried away, helping the two to divert disaster and set the canvas down unharmed, but it faced backward now, painted side in.

Harry looked back down at the programs, his own big green comic eyes looking up at him. “So, what are we supposed to do with these now?”

Zayn shrugged. “We get the other boys and then we make them fly.”

And make them fly they did. Driving down the narrow, cobbled streets in Harry’s white car, the roof open, tousling their hair.

Music was playing loudly from the speakers, Niall singing along even louder. Zayn and Liam had claimed the backseat and after a fierce game of rock-paper-scissors Louis was doomed to sit beside the tangle of limbs. Harry climbed in beside Niall on the passenger seat.

David Bowie was serenading them and this moment as Harry grabbed the first stack of theatre programs and handed it out to everyone in the car. As one, they all flung up the papers, scattering them in the air. They floated away, swishing through the streets like windy rain.

Niall let out a cry of amazement and joy. _“We can be heroes just for one day._ ”

“I want to be someone’s hero too,” Zayn said from the backseat, watching as the papers floated around them.

“Oh, you are,” Liam reassured him and kissed Zayn’s cheek with a smack.

Louis pretended to throw up next to them, making Harry laugh, then reached to the pile of paper and threw the next stack in the air. Harry watched as two passerby caught a few of the papers, watching with astonished eyes as the car passed them.

All of it felt theatre-vivid, full of stage lighting and dramatic gestures. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Louis amid the rain of paper, grinning up at them. They passed Mrs. Proctor’s bakery and Harry saw her waving through the window at them, throwing kisses. Harry pretended to catch one and put it his pocket, making Mrs. Proctor giggle adoringly through the windowpane.

One of the papers drifted down on the exact spot on the curb he and Louis had eaten nightly strawberry cake on, reminding him again of how far they had gotten – with the play _and_ their friendship.

The car rounded the corner and Harry turned back forward, the final advertising for their play being thrown into the air around him, making the figures drawn on it by Zayn's swift hand fly.

-

It was later that evening and all of Harry’s frenzy from the promotional car ride had worn off, had vanished just as quickly as it had come. They had gone to Zayn’s house, enjoying their last evening there before Zayn’s parents returned from Pakistan. Harry looked down at his phone. It wasn’t surprising, but it still stung either way. His father wouldn’t come.

He looked up to Zayn and Liam sitting next to each other on the couch, Mr. Whiskers commandingly lounging on Zayn’s lap with his large naked ears strained as if he was listening to the film playing on the telly as well. Niall had gone to sleep, his nose dangerously close to the cat’s ~~fangs~~ mouth.

Louis was somewhere in the kitchen, maybe fixing himself another bowl of popcorn or smoking (even though Harry hadn’t seen him do that in a surprisingly long amount of time). Mumbling something about getting some fresh air, he rose from the couch and paced to the French windows, opening them to the stone terrace and vast green garden behind them.

The cool early evening air kissed his skin and lifted his hair, still warm from the day’s sun. The swimming pool was, for the first time, actually filled as Liam had kept to his promise and started enthusiastically teaching a very apprehensive Zayn to swim.

So far, it had not gone great. Even the cat had less of a water phobia than its raven-haired owner. Though Zayn had quite enjoyed the dead men exercises, not surprisingly. It was his natural state after all, and whether he lay around pondering the most inner threads of the universe in a patch of tomato field or on the surface of blue water sparkling in the sun in the ripped arms of his adored boy didn’t really matter all that much, Harry supposed.

He stepped to the edge of the pool, watching the pale reflection of the far away setting sun on the calm, artificially blue surface. He remembered when he had been seven and his mother had dragged them all -him, his sister, and his father- to a public swimming pool in London while they had all stayed there during one of his father’s countless, never-ending business trips.

His father had asked him if he already knew how to swim and Harry had shyly shaken his head, defensively saying that there were a lot of boys in school that also didn’t know how to and that he was scared of diving under and never getting up again.

His father had been angry, saying and shouting things Harry didn’t understand because he had pressed his small hands over his ears and taken refuge in the arms of his older, all-knowing sister. Now he knew what his father had been so angry about. He wanted his son to _excel_ , to _be better_ , to _know how to do things_.

Be better than the boys at school, be better than the rest of the world.

_How are you supposed to be able to anything when you can’t even swim, Harry?_

So Harry had swum. Quietly, he had slipped out of his sister’s loose embrace who was too distracted looking up at their fighting parents to notice him quietly backing away to the pools edge. It had been an empty pool hall because that’s how his father did things: in private.

No one had been there; no one but his father and his mother who were arguing, yelling, and his sister who had watched with those big sad eyes she always had those days, even though she had only been ten.

Step after step, closer and closer.

There had been tears on his mother’s cheeks, salty like the water surrounding their house as she was beating at his father’s chest, saying things like “He’s only a boy, Desmond. Stop being like this. What has become of you?”

Another step.

This time, his heels had hit the edge pf the pool and he had turned around.

Behind him, there were still the voices, sad and angry and all he had wanted to do was to make it stop – make them stop. Make them happy again. Make everyone happy again. And if he needed to swim to achieve that, then he would swim.

Lots of his friends were able to do it, so why couldn’t he? It was easy, really. Just… be like a frog. Or a dolphin.

Taking a big breath and a small step.

Falling.

Then, only calm, only blue, only dimmed and muffled and quiet. So quiet. So peaceful.

He had liked it down there. No fights, no tears, no sadness. Only blue.

 _This is almost like flying_ , he remembered thinking.

And then something in his chest had started hurting and he had known this was when he was supposed to get up, get out, breathe again, but he hadn’t known how. He had struggled and fought and kicked and tried and he probably would have cried if there had been any time.

He only knew that he must have taken a breath, because suddenly there was water inside of him and everywhere and no air, no air at all, only fear and panic and terror and what felt like iron compressing his lungs, until suddenly… hands.

Warm strong hands attached to warm, strong, familiar arms had grabbed him and dragged him back to the surface, that glittering blue surface.

Then he had cried. In that moment, he had been so sure his tears could fill up that entire pool.

But his father had held him, gently stroking his hair and whispering kind and warm things into his ear, apologizing, saying sorry again and again and again. His tears then probably could have filled up another whole swimming pool, Harry had thought.

Now he knew how to swim; his father had made sure of that. Had made sure Harry would never be in that danger ever again. He had even won his school’s swimming competition for three consecutive years. How he had grown up at the sea without ever seeing it necessary to learn how to swim, he did not know. But he had always preferred watching the dance of the grey waves in the distance than be part of them. And there was also the issue of him having secretly watched the movie _Jaws_ too often.

Now he looked down at the pool’s surface, looking so much more inviting than the fierce sea of the cliffy English coast, yet still so unattainable. The white tiles at the bottom of the pool were blurry and indefinite somewhere on the ground.

Bathrooms tiles. Moons.

Slowly, he raised one naked foot and dunked his big toe into the light blue water. And then, without thinking, he let himself fall forward, closing his eyes as the clear blue surface of the pool swallowed him up.

This time, he knew how to get to the surface again, but he didn’t want to. It was still so peaceful, so quiet and kind. He hooked one foot around a narrow iron pole fixed at the bottom of the pool, anchoring himself in the water.

His light, black blouse was drifting around his body like a second skin and he watched as bubbles rose from his mouth to the surface. He stayed there for as long as his lungs let him, until they compressed and took him back to that struggling, helpless boy who had wanted nothing more than to breathe again.

With one last lingering look to the bright blue space around him, he followed the bubbles drifting up from his lips, pushing up from the white tiles to the surface, this time all on his own, without someone having to drag him out.

He broke through the surface, feeling the warm evening air meet his wet skin. He rubbed the water from his eyes, then opened them to see a pair of black sneakers standing on the pool’s edge, naked slim ankles peeking out between them and the lower end of black jeans.

Harry lifted his eyes up to meet Louis’, glinting questioningly. “I see you’ve upgraded from swimming in an empty swimming pool to swimming in a filled one. Though I do have one thing to tell you,” – he leaned forward, conspiratorially, putting a hand to his mouth, and said in a stage whisper – “most people swim without their clothes.”

Harry laughed, spraying Louis with a bit of water. Louis ducked from the small cupola. “Is that also your preferred way of showering? With all your clothes still on?”

Harry swam to the edge, holding up a hand. “Stop making fun of me and help me get out.”

Louis smiled down at him, shaking his head. “You don’t really think I’d fall for that, Harry? Oldest trick in the world.”

“Oh, I know you won’t fall for it,” Harry replied teasingly. “Of course Louis Tomlinson could never fall for anything.”

“Exactly. Now you’ve got it,” Louis confirmed, peering back down at Harry’s hand. “I trust you, Styles. Don’t make me regret it.”

And with that, he took Harry’s hand.

Harry grinned.

Louis grinned.

Harry pulled.

Louis fell.

In a graceful arch, Louis positively soared into the water, feet somewhere above his head, pointing at the cloudy grey sky before crashing through the smooth blue surface.

Laughing, Harry watched as Louis emerged again from the water, spitting and smiling. With a determined set to his face, Louis swam toward him, trying to push him beneath the surface. Harry resisted, giggling and splashing water at Louis. Eventually, they gave up on their childish tussle and both drifted to the pool’s edge where they rested their forearms, the lower parts of their bodies still submerged in water.

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” Louis said, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

Harry didn’t say what he was thinking; that Louis had known exactly what Harry was about to do and he hadn’t tried to stop it even a little bit. He knew Louis knew, and Louis knew that he knew.

Peering to the side, Harry watched as a single droplet of water snaked its way from Louis’ hairline along his temple and down his cheek until it eventually fell on his shoulder. Other drops were clinging to his long eyelashes, spiking them together to sharp black lines.

The droplets covering Louis’ body was not a good thought to have, Harry now realized as it conjured up a picture in his mind, made him think of Louis in the shower, Harry and Louis in the shower, thinking about hot water sliding down their bodies, their naked bodies, thinking about pressing Louis against a wall, thinking about the sounds he’d make, thinking about gliding his hands all over him. All. over. him.

God. He was a hopeless case. Someone needed to stop his thoughts, preferably by just yanking out his brain and being done with it. Not one inappropriate, smutty thought anymore. That would be rather nice.

“I swear I just saw my life flash before my eyes then,” Louis said, snapping Harry out of his inappropriate, smutty thoughts that were still located in some hot shower, slipping as mind-Louis reached out and-

“And what did you see?” Forget Tinkerbell and camel number three in his elementary school production of _A Passage to India_ , this was by far the best piece of acting he had ever delivered. Maybe he should pursue a career in politics, or in the secret service. Or a salesman, maybe. His father would be contended, at least. Alright, back to the idea of someone yanking his brain away from him then.

“Some nice things, actually. Like when I played Adam in my kindergarten Christmas Play and forgot my one line which I still don't know to this day. At that time, it was the worst possible thing in the entire world and when I got home, I went to stand stark-naked on our balcony for three hours, hoping that pneumonia would release me from the disgrace and ruin that would surely come with such a embarrassment. Crazy foreshadowing, that." He offered a ghost of a smile for his joke, but it flickered out quickly.  "I also remembered learning how to swim,” Louis said, oblivious to Harry’s going slightly mad right beside him. “I was wearing water wings, but to my endless disappointment, they did not bestow the gift of flight upon me. They were just really tight and hot, so I took them off and begged me mum to teach me how to swim properly."

“I know what you mean,” Harry said, resting his chin on the pool’s edge, feet treading lazily in the water. “I was very let down by my water wings. I was wishing for large butterfly wings, maybe with a little added glitter.”

“You’re so predictable, Harry,” Louis chuckled, turning his head to him.

“You _’_ re not.”

“You’re actually not either. Just strange.”

“Hey. You’re the one who just told me about wanting to fly with water wings.”

“That’s not strange. That’s cute. I was a very sweet little lad.”

“I can imagine.”

“Full bowl cut and tooth gaps and all that.”

“You should channel that energy for next week.”

“For the play? Are you saying that my acting isn’t good enough as it is?”

Harry laughed and shrugged smugly.

“I remind you of the fact that I was critically very acclaimed and the youngest actor to ever portray-“

Harry splashed water at him, making Louis laugh and stop talking. “May I remind you of how unprofessional you were just strutting about and dropping off stage like a sack of potatoes?”

“Now I’m really offended,” Louis said, not very offended, only smiling. “It’s worked out fine in the end though, hasn’t it?”

His gaze was very earnest and very blue. Words pressed against Harry’s mouth, begged to be said, but he kept silent.

“I think it has.” The words slumped disappointedly, and so did Harry.

“But I still can’t let you get away with that,” Louis said. “Respect your elders.”

And with that, he lunged towards Harry and pushed his shoulders through the water surface, down into the silent blue world where Harry had first learnt what true fear and true peace was.

Down, down, down…

And it was such a very long way, into that blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really really sorry for the late update!!! I was super busy and did not find any time to write, but I'll try my best to update as frequently as possible again. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up a bit later than usual, though, sorry!
> 
> Another thing I'm sorry for is this endless pining, but it'll be over soon, promise ;)
> 
> Thanks for your patience and for reading anyway! I really appreciate it <3


	17. The World's a Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A play, some drama, and some heartbreak.

 

_Song(s):  
_

" _Lost Boy" - Ruth B._

 

 

The world was a hustle; a blur; a connected thread of excitement and nerves.

James was bouncing around like a rubber ball, giving last advice there, wiping a bit of nervous sweat from his brow here. Everyone was half dressed, in a weird in-between of eyepatches and denim trousers, sabers and leather purses. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis spotted a head of golden hair sprinting past him, white nightgown blowing in the wind behind him. Months of hard work, all culminating in this one night, these two hours.

Ernie was sitting on a big black box, calmly eating a sandwich, unbothered by the antsiness around him. Louis still needed to get dressed and then pay Eleanor the dreaded visit at the make-up chair, exposing his vulnerable skin to her torture instruments.

On his way to the changing room, he stopped at the heavy red curtain, peeking around the corner into the slowly filling auditorium. There were Zayn’s parents and sisters (all dapperly dressed and so unlike their neon-wearing son), polite smiles on their faces as rows of people tried maneuvering their way past them.

One of them was the thrift shop owner and his wife which made Louis’ lips quirk into a smile.

In the back was Calvin, flirting with a blond girl beside him who Louis recognized as the girl Niall had danced with at Zayn’s party before not going home with her after all.

James’s wife and kids; Adam’s family; the owner of the café.

The girl that had thrown a milkshake at her cheating boyfriend, leaving a proud Louis to clean up the mess.

That had been the day he met Harry. Felt like a few decades ago.

In the very first row, Louis spotted Harry’s cousin Jack who looked up, face lighting up when he saw Louis and giving him a little wave. Louis returned the wave. So the people next to him were Harry’s family then. Of course Louis had seen them before on pictures (and his stalker internet endeavors at the very beginning of his tedious relationship with Harry Edward Styles), but even if he hadn’t, it would still have been abundantly clear that these people were related to Harry.

His sister didn’t have the purple hair anymore Louis had seen her with on the framed photo in Harry’s room, but was back to her childhood dark blonde. His stepfather, and then the woman with long dark hair and a kind smile, flipping through the program Zayn had designed, pointing out the drawings to her family.

Suddenly it occurred to Louis that all three of them had come here from their village, Holmes Chapel, just for this one night; to see Harry fulfill his dream and cheer him on. Something stung deep inside Louis’ chest and his mind turned to his sisters, wondering what they might be doing now. He hadn’t told them about the play, so of course he didn’t expect them to come, but he still felt as if something was missing. And that something was someone cheering for him in the audience. But those people were no longer here.

He remembered opening nights still so vividly -all of them- with his whole family there in the front row, the large black ocean of seats and expectant people, so many you couldn’t even discern single faces in the crowd. This was so different. Louis could see every single face, and none of them were his family.

But enough with the self-pity. He was about to turn around and finally get dressed, when suddenly, something else caught his eye in the crowd. Someone else.

For a second, he thought he might be hallucinating, and blinked, dumbstruck.

He had fainted. He had fainted and gone into a hallucinating coma. That was the only explanation.

Or maybe he had fallen into a wormhole.

He blinked again.

Nope, still there.

What was _happening_?

Because, there, standing calmly and collected as ever in the middle aisle, a program in his hands, stood Ben Winston.

Louis’ director, colleague, friend, the one he had sworn to never look in the eye ever again.

What, pray tell, the fuck?

He was one of London’s – England’s- biggest, most acclaimed directors, screenwriters, theatre-connaisseurs. He was rich, he was successful, and he certainly did not belong in this tiny bedraggled theatre which probably had less seats than his private home theatre.

None of the adjectives that came into Louis’ mind when he thought of the name Ben Winston were high up on the list of adjectives to describe this place.

A memory of Ben’s blurred face rose behind Louis’ eyes, softly slapping his cheek. ' _Louis? It’s alright, buddy. The ambulance will be here soon. What the fuck happened?'_  

There had been anger behind his concern, Louis had even seen it simmering in his decrepit state. Of course there had been. That night had been one of the most important nights in Ben’s career. A theatre critic – _the_ Theatre critic; the Anton Ego of the London theatre world - had been in the audience that night. Ben had been drilling this into everyone’s minds for weeks in advance. This was something he had always dreamed of. And Louis had ruined it.

Shockingly, the review had not turned out well. Go figure.

They had only gotten through five minutes until Louis’… performance.

Louis had -much to his regret- read the article in a particularly strong fit of masochism and despair. And since that night, he had never spoken a word to this man ever again.

This exact man who was currently making his way down the aisle between the slowly filling seats toward the stage – to where Louis was standing.

In horror, he could do nothing but watch as Ben approached the stage, before he blinked and was finally able to rip the soles of his shoes off the parquet floor and hurry away from the curtain to find shelter. There was no way he would talk to Ben Winston. Nope, not happening.

He threw a glance to the side, sashaying through the busy string of old ladies in pirate costumes. His eyes fell to the large wardrobe where the pirate costumes had been stored, then quickly leaped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

In the dark, he heard his own breath echoing loudly from the wooden walls, joining his thoughts that were bouncing from side to side like panicked rabbits. There was no chance he would ever set a foot outside this wardrobe ever again, that was for sure.

Just as he had made peace with this, the door was suddenly yanked open and Louis had so squint his eyes closed against the slicing light from outside evading the safety of his own personal Narnia.

After his system had adjusted to the sudden attack on his private space, he managed to muster up a hard glare at whoever this intruder was. It was Liam.

Quickly, Louis reached out to close the door again, but Liam grabbed the edge and stopped it. “Let go, Liam Payne,” Louis hissed, pulling on the door handle.

Liam angled his head to the side, a confused crinkle on his forehead. “What the hell are you doing in there, Louis?”

“None of your business,” Louis replied, pulling a little harder. “Now let go and don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

Christ, this boy was strong!

“Normally I wouldn’t question this, but ten minutes before the show starts it does concern me a bit, not going to lie,” Liam sighed, exasperated. “What are you doing in a wardrobe? And why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“I’m in hiding.”

Liam’s head whipped around, searching the room behind him. “In hiding from who?”

“Shhh,” Louis hissed frantically as he ducked deeper into his wardrobe. “And it’s 'whom'.”

“Why don’t _youm_ get your arse out of there and try to help me find Zayn?”

“You lost Zayn?”

Liam crossed his arms in defense, giving Louis a chance to quickly pull the door shut. “I didn’t lose Zayn, I just can’t find him!” came Liam’s offended voice from the other side of the door. Then, “Oh Nialler, there you are! Louis won’t come out of the closet.”

“I thought he already did when he was sixteen.”

Outside, Niall and Liam both burst into laughter at the incredibly bad joke while inside, Louis rolled his eyes so hard he saw stars.

“I was eighteen!” he grumbled, loud enough for Niall and Liam to hear him.

The door opened again, this time with the silhouette of Niall’s shock of electric hair, his body outlined by a flimsy chemise. “What is it, Tommo?”

Louis quickly looked around for any potential danger, then turned back to Liam and Niall’s expectant faces. “He’s here,” he whispered loudly, ducking back into the wardrobe.

“Whom is?” asked Liam.

“Who,” corrected Louis and Niall at the same time.

Another confused wrinkle joined the already existent one on Liam’s forehead.

“Who is?” asked Niall again.

“Ben Winston.”

Niall’s jaw dropped. “ _What?_ ” He looked as if he might join Louis in the wardrobe or bring him a few blankets and supplies for his extended stay in it. “ _Why_?”

“I don’t know!” Louis exclaimed.

Niall seemed to pull himself together as he scanned the room for Louis’ former acting coach and director.

“Who’s Ben Winston?” Liam asked, his eyes also skimming the room.

“Someone Louis didn’t leave on good terms with,” replied Niall. He turned back to Louis. “But he’s also someone Louis now has to face.” When he saw Louis’ face, Niall quickly added, “Or at least try to ignore him in the audience and then flee before a conversation can be sparked.”

He held out a hand, and after a few seconds spent pondering a life in the theatre closet, Louis took it and let himself be hoisted out of the wardrobe.

“Okay great, can someone now tell me where the hell Zayn is?” Liam urged, putting his hands on his hips.

“Oh yeah right, you lost Zayn,” Niall mused, looking around the untidy room.

“I didn’t lose Zayn!” Liam disputed.

“I found Zayn!” Louis exclaimed, pointing at a small corner behind the awaiting red curtain where he had spotted a flash of naked, wrinkled skin. “Or rather, his cat.”

The three made their way over to the corner where Zayn was sitting on a black box used to store props, legs tucked up to his chest. His face was as pale as Niall’s flimsy Wendy Darling chemise.

“What’s wrong, Z?” asked Louis as Liam sat down beside the boy and his cat which was glaring at them from a little basket bearing great resemblance to a prop from the elementary school production of Little Red Riding Hood.

From here, the sound of the slowly filling audience was loud and clear; the sound of talking, laughter, and people clearing their throats, waiting for the curtain to rise.

“This is how Marie Antoinette must have felt,” Zayn said, eyes big behind his large glasses.

Louis’ brows lifted. “What?”

“This is how Marie Antoinette must have felt waiting in a prison palace in Paris while she heard the guillotines being built outside for her execution.“

Louis sighed. „A bit dramatic, don’t you think?“

„Says you. I saw you hiding in that closet, you know.“

Louis shrugged nonchalantly. „I’m not nervous.“ That wasn’t strictly true, though. Actually, it wasn’t true at all. He was nervous. Extremely so. This would be the first time he stood on a stage in front of an extended number of people (one of them being his foe Ben fucking Winston) since his accident. His fucking-up. His absolute, remarkable, infamous stupid failure. His-

“What is the animal doing here?” Niall yanked Louis back to reality. “And why is it in a basket?”

“To watch the show,” Zayn explained with a shrug. He tickled Mr. Whiskers chin and Louis watched as a little bit of colour returned to his cheeks.

“I swear I will steal him and take him to the zoo one day,” Louis said as he caught on to Niall’s train of thought.

“God help any lions of he gets into their den,” added Niall which made Zayn smile proudly. “He’s a really fierce lad, that one.”

“God help us if we have to live with him any longer.”

Zayn laughed and Liam shot them both a small smile while running his hand over Zayn’s back in soothing circles. “A thing cannot be lovable until it is loved,” Zayn said, picking the unlovable cat up and rubbing their noses together.

“Stop quoting Sigmund Freud and get your butt ready for the guillotine. To die will be an awfully big adventure," Louis said. 

“And you,” Niall added, pointing at Louis. “Get dressed. Now. We have to be on in ten minutes.”

Right. That would be good, Louis supposed. He hurried in the direction of his dressing room when he was stopped again by the sight of a fairy in black skinny jeans and a golden shirt, peeking through a small gap in the curtain at the audience. As if he felt Louis approaching, Harry turned around, a lopsided smile lighting up his face, nudging awake a little flutter inside Louis’ stomach.

He stepped beside Harry, looking out over the small pond of people. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry said, turning back to the curtain.

“Nervous?”

“Very much so. You?”

“Horrified.”

A small laugh escaped Harry and Louis realized just how much of a genius Niall Horan was. The true cure against stage fright and nervousness: laughter. And Louis wanted nothing more than to come up with ways to keep Harry laughing.

A few strands of Harry’s hair had escaped the confines of his bun and defied gravity around his head. Everything about him seemed to do. Louis wanted to reach out and lay his hand against the long, soft column of his neck. He wanted to do a lot of things. But instead, he turned around, heading for the dressing room.

“I’d say break a neck, but I’m afraid you and your Bambi legs will actually go out and do just that, so I’ll settle for good luck.”

Harry half-heartedly punched his arm as he cackled his witchy cackle and Louis hurried to the dressing room with a smirk of his own.

When he was finally in his costume and fashionable make-up, the play had already begun. As he hurried back to the stage entrance, he heard Niall sing his solo in the Darling family home. In just a few minutes, it would be his turn to get out there. Shit.

Harry was already standing in position, nervously running his palms along his trousers. Louis stepped up beside him and instinctively reached out to take his hand. It was broad and warm in Louis’ and he felt the pressure of Harry's rings against his skin.

For a moment, he felt Harry’s surprised glance on him but neither said anything, only watched the stage and the audience. Harry’s hand was slick with nervous sweat, just as Louis’ probably was. His thumb rubbed the center of Louis’ palm. All his nerves concentrated there, alive to every movement of Harry’s skin on his. And for a second, he almost forgot about the daunting stage and audience waiting out there, because the only thing his brain was able to comprehend was the edges of their magnetic fields bumping against each other.

The scene before them slowly progressed and with each passing second, Louis grew more restless. He wanted to dance or jump or punch something, anything to get rid of this pressing anxiety inside him. He wanted to explode out of his skin. The fire on his palm, sparked by the molecules of Harry’s thumb...

Sometimes, it just gets really abundantly clear how long one minute is. Waiting for a microwave meal to cook, the last minute of the lesson when the hand on the clock seems to have been glued on with chewing gum. This was one of those minutes.

It took forever, but still wasn’t nearly enough. The space-time-continuum had been disturbed, was broken. And then it was time.

It was a haze.

Somewhere outside his body, Louis felt Harry giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go and stepping out onto that daunting stage, Louis following. And with that step, he left behind all the anxiety and dread, leaving only this stage and these boys. He forgot about the audience, forgot about his failure, forgot about Ben Winston - and he had fun.

Right. This had been fun. He had loved this so much. This had always been his one true love – and now he finally fully remembered why.

As he flew and ran and sashayed across the stage, he could so clearly remember the large theatres, the vast audiences in London. But this was different. This was him.

Just the fact that this was Louis’ word vomit being acted out on stage, his thoughts, the letters written by his hand… that sort of felt pretty fucking incredible.

It wasn’t perfect, it was actually pretty messy and amateur-like, but it was beautiful. It was a beautiful disaster. And it was maybe the most fun Louis had ever had. He loved every second of it.

Before he knew it, the play was coming to its close and Louis stood on the planks of a fake pirate ship, raising his sword to Captain Hook’s -Nick’s - chest. Panting, he watched Nick raise his saber and direct it at him, only to whip around at the last second and aim the weapon at Wendy. Instinctively as much as rehearsed, Louis parried the strike at his Lost boys and wrestled Hook to the ground, sending them both tripping down into the invisible chasm behind the ship. Tinkerbell’s outcry echoed through the theatre as the seconds passed and neither Peter nor Hook emerged.

Peter could fly. But he didn’t emerge. He did not soar back into the air after his fall.

Panting, Louis lay on the ground behind the fake ship and regretted not making Peter survive. He should have survived.

Nick shook him awake from his thoughts and pulled him to his feet. With a small start, Louis realized that it was over.

He and Nick emerged from behind the ship and were greeted by a cheering audience and the radiant faces of their co-stars. But, of course, one face stuck out.

Joy lit Harry’s stunning eyes, a grin as bright as the stage lights etching dimples into his cheeks. The corners of Louis’ mouth tugged upwards. His chest tightened, and he became too full for his body, for what coursed through him.

He faintly noticed Niall and Zayn grabbing his hands and then bowing, bowing, bowing.

Applause as James entered the stage.

But Louis released the hands and steered through the pirates and Lost Boys until - there he was. Harry turned around and smiled, and it was such a mix of glad and sweet and shy and eager and ecstatic and amazed that it triggered a kindred smile within Louis. Something that felt so ridiculous and large and fitting on Louis’ face. And it was just… he couldn’t even explain it. It was a dimension.

There was still a light smattering of applause, but he wasn’t going to be distracted by anything outside the circle of this moment. Harry also let go of the other’s hands and instead took a step toward Louis, that grin still on his face. Louis wanted nothing more than to keep it there forever.

“We did it!” Harry exclaimed, walking toward him.

Louis laughed, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He was warm, his back damp with sweat, and his hair tickled the side of Louis’ face. “ _You_ did it,” Louis murmured, savoring every precious second of this moment.

Time seemed to have changed pace since he’d met Harry. The laws of the universe had been averted.

They both turned back to the audience, blinded by the lights, and as the applause turned louder, they bowed together once more. And one word kept spinning inside Louis’ head, all the way through – _Home_.

He couldn’t tell whether it was Harry’s hand in his or the warm stage lights tickling his skin.

Maybe it was both.

-

Two hours later, Louis found himself at the pub where they celebrated the play. He was standing at the bar, doing Calvin’s work who was intently flirting with the girl from the theatre. Louis knew he should feel happy about the successful performance, but he couldn’t help the small coil of sadness in his belly. This evening meant he was one step closer to the end once again. It had made him realize how much he missed it all. The daily performances, the acting, the thrill of it all… and his family. God, how much he missed them.

His sisters - his family – they had been his whole world. And who were you without your world?

“Can I get a drink around here somewhere?”

Louis looked up and saw Ronnie leaning against the counter. “Sure,” he replied, throwing the rag over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”

As he poured the drink, Ronnie spoke up, “What’s buggin’ you kiddo? You were great out there tonight.”

Louis set the glass down on the counter, giving Ronnie a quick smile. “Thanks.”

For a small second, his eyes fell on Harry over Ronnie’s shoulder. He was talking with Nick and his sister, the three of them laughing and jiggling along to the karaoke music James was performing on stage.

“Ah.” Ronnie had followed Louis’ eyes and twisted around to look at Harry. “So that’s it.”

Louis sighed, too tired to deny it. “It’s not just that.” He waved a hand nimbly through the air, gesturing at nothing in particular. “It’s just this whole… life thing. Regrets and such.”

“Oh, but you don’t have anything to regret, do you?” Ronnie asked innocently, sipping on his beer.

“Well…,” Louis muttered, swaying his head from side to side. “This and that.”

“Don’t regret it. Regret nothing that has ever lead to anything resembling something like happiness. It’s the worst feeling in the world. And the most useless, for that matter. Besides, I feel like all the stupid choices that have gotten you to this point couldn’t have been too bad. I do the stage lighting for the show, boy, and I’ve seldom seen a grin as broad as yours was tonight. Especially while hugging that boy, if I might give myself permission to say so.”

He set the glass down with a thump. “Life’s not easy. It’s actually really fucking hard and a regrettable thing but loving someone and making them laugh somehow makes it all worthwhile in the end, doesn’t it?” He raised a brow. “So, if your life is as fucked up as you say it is, then simply make it your mission to make that one person happy and you’ll be happy as well. Cause believe me – it does. He laughs, you laugh. His eyes sparkle, yours do too. Simple as that. Remember –“ he brought a finger to his temple and tapped it, “I see everything up there as master of the lights.”

He was right, wasn’t he? Old people were usually wise and all that. It was sort of simple, really. No need to make it any more complicated than it was. He should have done this a long fucking time ago.

“Thanks Ronnie. The next one is on the house,” Louis said, refilling Ernie’s glass before taking a deep breath and steering towards Harry’s table. He felt like he was about to go out on stage again, his heartbeat somewhere in his palms.

On his way, he grabbed a drink from Niall’s hand who shouted an objection after him, but Louis needed something to do with his hands. It was time. No more excuses. No more missed chances.

But in that moment, someone behind him said Louis’ name and Louis whirled around in shock at the horrifyingly familiar voice, spilling the entirety of his drink over his shirt with a small, very unmanly yelp.

“Fuck!”

“I see you haven’t changed a lot. Though I don’t know whether I should be glad about that or not.”

Louis lifted his eyes from his soaked shirt and jeans, looking right up at the neatly trimmed beard of one Mr. Ben Winston.

He closed his eyes. How could he have forgotten? Fuck.

After a brief pause, Ben spoke up again. “How are you, Louis?”

With much reluctance, Louis opened his eyes again and tried out a grin. “Great, Ben. I’m doing great.” He gave a thumbs-up, then immediately lowered his hands again as he realized how stupid it looked. “How are you?”

_And what THE FUCK are you doing here?_

“I’m glad to hear that, Lou. I really am. And I’m doing quite good myself.” Another awkward pause. “Look, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. Well, I’m here because I’ve had an epiphany. You see, I’m very good friends with Ms. Quigley; the news reporter. I believe you know her. She was at Desmond Styles’s New Year’s party. And I was sitting with her at lunch, you see, when she tells me all about this party – unfortunately I couldn’t go this year; a premiere – and how she ran into none other than Louis Tomlinson. You. She also told me about this play you apparently were in with Desmond’s son. And I couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation the whole day. I was sitting at rehearsals, watching that bloke playing the lead role, when I realized that I needed to get you back. You were always so talented, Lou. And when you… left, I tried looking for the 'next you', I really did. And there were some handsome ones, some talented ones, no question, but there was never the same magic that you brought to any stage you were standing on. So, on a complete whim, I decided to come here and look at this play you were in. Get a chance to talk to you. Offer you to come back. I won’t lie; I was angry, at first when … it happened. But looking back on it, you were just a boy, weren’t you? It’s natural to make mistakes. And I’ve realized that it’s time for you to make your comeback. You were great out there tonight. The play was… interesting, but you – you were great like always! And I know that you miss it. I could see it. After your… accident, I tried calling you. I didn’t give a shit about 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', Louis. You were the one who drew back from the entire world. You were the one who didn’t take any of my calls.”

Louis felt like he might drop backward any second. How could Ben dare come into Louis’ newly sorted life again and mess it all up in just a matter of seconds?

“Look, I realize this may be a bit much, but I could arrange a few performances for that play of yours in London. You know, to get you on the scene again. Not much, only one or two performances, but it should help getting used to larger audiences again. Come on, Lou, you know as much as I do that we were a great team.”

Louis’ head was spinning, the sour smell of the spilled drink on his shirt stinging in his nose and eyes.

“No, Ben. I’m sorry. But I … I like it here. I’ve just started – “ he resisted throwing a glance over his shoulder at Harry. “I can’t leave.”

Ben sighed. “If you really don’t want to do it for yourself, then do it for the other actors involved in that play. A few of them weren’t even half bad. Don’t get me wrong, some of them were atrocious, but this could be a breakthrough for them. Think about it. It’d be quite egoistic to deny them this chance only because of your personal reasons. You don’t belong here, Lou. You belong out there; on a big stage, in front of a big audience. Consider it, that’s all I’m asking.”

He raised his brows. “It’s only two nights, and then you can give me your decision about working with me again. We were a good team, Lou. We can be again.”

And with that, he turned around and left, leaving Louis behind, confused and agitated. The past he had so desperately tried to leave behind and never think about again for such a long time had caught up to him, clashing with the present and the future he had, for the first time, allowed himself to be excited about.

Hurriedly, he ambled for the bathroom where he gripped the sink and sprayed cool water on his skin. He looked up and saw his own pale, gaunt face staring back at him with big, stricken eyes.

He had sworn to himself never to return to all that again. He had been scared of being ridiculed, hated, never taken seriously again. But he couldn’t deny the others their chance at doing what the loved with such a passion professionally. Could he just selfishly refuse them their dream when it scared him so much? Could he do that to them? Could he do that to Harry? And did he even want to do it?

Maybe… maybe people actually had forgotten about his mishap, his utter unprofessionalism. But if they had and he would just continue where he had left off three years ago, would that mean he would have to leave behind everything good he had found since then?

But, but, but. If, if, if…

No. He had to put his own issues and fears behind. This wasn’t about him. This was about the chance; that small, significant chance for these people he had grown to love so much. It was about their chance; their dream.

He imagined James’s incredulous shriek when Louis would tell him his play, his baby, would be performed in London. The Lady Pirate Crew’s delight and pride when they heard the news. Nick, Greg, Eleanor, Clare, Sarah, Mitch, Niall, Zayn, Liam. Harry.

Their pride, their excitement, their joy, their dreams fulfilled. He couldn’t take that away from them. Not ever.

His breathing slowed as the decision took hold in his head. Whatever happened, this was the most important thing. Everything else was second.

His own reflection had gained a little colour in the mirror and he turned to leave, ready to tell his friends about this once in a lifetime chance – when he ran straight into a chest.

He looked up, resigned and dizzy. “Stan,” he sighed, trying to slide his way past him. Stan’s hot breath smelled distinctly of alcohol and smoke which he blew into Louis’ face, making his stomach churn.

Louis made a face. “Ew, how much have you been drinking?”

“Not much,” Stan slurred, leaning even closer. “Teeny tiny bit.”

Louis tried again to push his way past Stan’s burly arms, but he was locked in between him and the sink which was digging uncomfortably into his back.

“You were great tonight, Lou. A real sssuuper-star.”

He was now so close the tip of his nose was pressed against Louis’ cheek and Louis writhed to get out of the clasp. “Get off me, Stan,” he demanded firmly, but Stan only pressed Louis harder against the sink.

“I love you, you know?”

Louis closed his eyes.

“I really love you. I have ever since that night in winter. Right there,” he said, jerking his head to one of the cubicles behind him. “Was right there where you blew me. And I thought you liked me too. But you dropped me like a hot potato, you did. You hurt me, Lou. You really did. You hurt a lot of people. You hurt everyone around you, Lou. All of them. You touch them and then you break them apart.”

Louis turned his face away, partly in disgust, partly because he didn’t want Stan to see the forming layer of moisture in his stinging eyes.

“But it’s fine,” Stan whispered hotly against the side of Louis’ face. “It’s fine, Lou. Everything’s fine. I still love you. I’m not like all those other ones. I won’t leave you. I promise. I won’t leave you alone like all those other people you’ve broken did. Because I love you, and none of those other people do. Otherwise they wouldn’t have left. You know that.”

Something sharp and painful was lodged in Louis’ throat. “Leave me alone.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded raspy and weak. _You’re weak, Tomlinson_. _And everything you touch breaks apart_.

It was as if someone had ripped away all his defenses and walls, and now nothing was left but raw and brute words. The truth.

All the restraint had left his body and now there was nothing left to stop Stan as he leaned in and placed his mouth on Louis’, tasting of stale smoke. Something nudged Louis’ mind and his eyes drifted over to the cubicle beside the one that bore such a grave value to Stan – the one in which he and Harry had first kissed. It was his breath that had reeked of cigarette smoke then, and Harry’s lips had been so sweet, so soft and full against Louis’. Not like Stan’s which were pressing with unrestrained hardness and urging hastiness against Louis’ as his hands ungainly roved over Louis’ body.

Louis was miserable. He wanted this to stop, but the words kept ringing in his head. Bile rose in his throat, his hands felt clammy and cold, something sharp kept twisting in his belly.

Finally, he raised his numb hands to push Stan and his words away from him, grappling to break free from his stifling embrace.

It was at that moment that the broken restroom was flung open. Somehow, Louis knew who was standing in the doorway without having to turn his throbbing head. The knife cutting his innards grew bigger, and so did the thing threatening to close up his throat. Still, he finally broke away from Stan’s smoke breath and demanding lips, and looked to his side.

Harry was standing there, looking puzzled and confused and… hurt. So much hurt in his eyes. So much pain.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Shock and something else flared in Harry’s gaze, his mouth opening. Louis stared at him, feeling as if somebody had pulled away the ground beneath his feet.

For a small infinity of a moment, everything was silent. Then Harry said, quietly, more like a breath, “Oh.”

There was another moment of silence, until Harry started stammering, “I, um… I… Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” He turned to leave, then looked back again. “Louis, I…” He slumped. “Sorry.”

Then he was gone.

“Harry, I…,” Louis rasped but his voice was weak and so were his knees. _What had he done?_

Stan leaned in again, mouth open, but Louis pushed him away at last, regaining strength from the determination and regret assembling in his mind. “Leave me alone, Stan,” he hissed. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Taking another few steadying breaths, he made to hurry out of the bathroom. Stan was cursing under his breath behind him. “See, this is exactly what I was talking about, Lou. You make people care and then you push them away. And you hurt everyone else around you in the process. You break them.”

Louis sucked in his lips, fighting the urge to twirl around and punch Stan in the face while at the same time fighting the urge to roll in a fetal position on the floor. “Fuck off,” was all he said before running out the bathroom, back into the hot, crowded pub, looking around madly for Harry.

Someone dashed toward him and suddenly, he was overrun by people excitedly asking him if they were really going to London.

“Tell me this is a fucking joke, Louis,” Niall shouted. “Tell me Zayn was lying when he said he overheard you talking to Ben Winston about us performing two nights in London. Tell me he’s lying.”

“We’re going to London!”

“We’re going to be stars!”

“Has anyone seen Nick?”

“I’m dreaming right now, aren’t I?”

Arms were reaching for him, trying to pull him into hugs, but Louis freed himself from the mass and the shouts and they excitement, dashing toward the exit. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Louis drew in the fresh night air in greedy gulps.

“You alright, mate?” Calvin was standing beside the door, sharing a cigarette with the girl from the theatre.

“Have you seen Harry?” Louis asked urgently.

“’Yes, I’m splendid, Calvin. How are you?’”

Louis only looked at him pleadingly and Calvin sighed. “I think he went home.”

“Thanks,” Louis muttered and headed down the street, ignoring the concerned look Calvin threw after him.

He was supposed to go home. He’d already done enough damage. There wasn't even any reason for him having to explain himself to Harry. There really wasn't. But why did he still feel like he had just committed a horrible crime? Why did he feel as if he had somehow betrayed Harry? He really should go home.

So why was he turning away from the door to his apartment building and heading back down the street? What did he think would even happen?

His every instinct pressed him on, though.

He needed to fix this. Because there was definitely something that needed fixing. The look on Harry’s face…

The sharp memory was enough for Louis to speed up his step and pull his phone from his pocket. As he impatiently waited for the incessant ringing to be replaced by Harry’s voice, he rounded the next corner towards Harry’s house. There was still light in the window, falling warmly onto the grey pavement.

At last, the ringing stopped.

“Harry! Hi. It’s me. Louis. I just… I wanted to say that – It wasn’t what you-“

“Sorry, Louis, Harry’s in the shower right now. Should I tell him that you called? Or maybe give him a message?”

It took a moment for Louis’ mind to disentangle the words and understand their meaning. He halted so fast he nearly stumbled, his soles screeching on the ground. “Oh.”

He swallowed. Then swallowed again. Then took a deep, shaky breath. Exhaled. “Sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t know… Sorry.”

He cleared his throat, fighting back the disappointment and pain rising in his lungs. “No, you don’t need to tell him. It’s alright. Did I say sorry already? I didn’t mean to disturb. I-“ He rubbed a palm over his forehead which felt clammy and cold. “Bye.”

He made to hang up.

“Oh, Lou, I just heard about the London thing! That’s fucking incredible. Cheers mate. Gonna be great. Thanks for arranging that.”

“I didn’t- I… Thanks. See you tomorrow, Nick. Have fun. Sorry again.”

“No problem. You sure I shouldn’t tell Harry anything?”

“No, it’s alright. Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Louis hung up.

His insides seemed to have been scraped out. He was a carved a pumpkin. Ready to be displayed on people’s windowsills in October. Harry Styles had turned him into a carved pumpkin.

He turned around, away from that light and that window – the window behind which Nick was at this moment, waiting for Harry to get out of the shower, waiting to kiss him, touch him, love him. All he wanted was to turn around and run back, yell up to that window; all the thoughts he had locked inside himself for these past months; like in a bad knock-off Shakespeare novel. But he knew, deep down, that backing off was the right thing to do. If it made Harry happy, Louis would back off without ever telling him what he felt.

And it made sense – Harry and Nick.

Louis remembered all the times he had seen them laugh together, dance together, talk to each other – he, Louis, had even teased Harry about it, at the beginning.

Nick was funny and always made people laugh, and he was as exotic as Harry and they both wore colourful Hawaiian shirts. It was perfect. They were perfect. Together. And Louis was not. He was the chain-smoking, vertically challenged boy who definitely didn’t deserve Harry Styles, the boy who flew around like a honey-bee, leaving a trail of glitter and sequins behind everywhere he went. This was best.

So why did it hurt so much, walking away from that window? Why did everything always have to hurt so much?

He had reached his apartment building where Calvin and the girl had now moved from talking to making out, blocking the entrance in the heat of their passion. Louis had to gently push them aside to unlock the door and squeeze into the small corridor. They didn’t even notice.

The apartment was empty and dark when Louis stepped inside. The only light came from outside, filtering through the smudgy windowpanes.

He closed the door, and then his eyes, trying to shove back against this hollowness. He hadn’t felt so small, so… insignificant for a very long time.

He felt something roiling in his stomach, sorrow and memories and everything else.

Stan’s words. His hands on Louis’ body. The look on Harry’s face. Nick’s voice through the phone speaker.

Some dam gave way inside Louis.

He barely made it to the toilet before vomiting up the night’s booze. And then he lay on the cold tile floor, crying.

-

Harry stepped out of the shower, water dripping from the tips of his hair onto his shoulders, small puddles forming around his feet. He rubbed his skin dry with a towel, then stepped into his pajamas, trying to shake the image of Louis and that guy in the bathroom from his mind.

With a sigh, he opened the door to his room where Nick was lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone. When he saw Harry, he looked up. “Wow, I think my grandma owns the exact same pajama bottoms.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, picked up a small pillow at the foot of the bed, and threw it at Nick’s head. “Is that my phone?”

Nick dropped the phone onto the mattress. “Yeah. Mine’s dead.”

Harry climbed onto the bed beside him. He eyed Nick’s face suspiciously. “What's the matter?”

Nick hesitated. “Louis called.”

“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at Nick. He didn’t want him to see the hurt and disappointment on his face. “What did he want?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t know. He wouldn’t tell. He sounded quite fevered, though.”

“Oh.”

“Is there something going on between you two?”

Harry fingered the edge of his blanket, swallowing down the pain closing up his throat. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he only shook his head and formed a low abnegating sound.

“Well, it definitely sounded like there was a lot going on with him.”

“He likes someone else. Or at least, he isn’t interested in me.” A painful jab poked Harry’s chest. “He isn’t like that… I don’t think what I want is really his thing. He’s more someone to- I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t know. But he doesn’t like me that way. We’re friends.”

Nick exhaled loudly. “Anyway. Thanks for letting me crash here tonight. I’m way too drunk to drive home.”

Harry summoned a smile. “That’s alright. I wouldn’t have wanted to be alone tonight anyway.” He probably would have spent the night crying himself to sleep over a box of vegan chocolate and a Tom Hanks movie if he had been alone. This was better.

Nick patted Harry’s shoulder, scrambling off the sheets. “You’re a good friend, Haz.”

He yawned, dragging a duvet and pillow with him to the living room couch. In the doorframe, he turned around again, flashing Harry a wry grin. “Good night.”

“Night,” Harry mumbled, pulling the blanket over himself. “Could you switch off the light please?”

Darkness swallowed the room, but Nick was still poised in the doorway, the light from the living room silhouetting the outline of his tall, slim body and messy quiff. “You like him, though, don’t you? You want to be with him?”

Harry turned onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I thought I did, but maybe I was wrong.” He sighed again. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. _He_ ’s complicated.”

Nick looked at him through the dark. “Maybe this is selfish and egoistic and makes me a bad person and all that, but I’m sort of hoping that nothing happens between you two. I’m here for you, Haz. You know that, right? I’m right here. And I guess liking someone that much makes people selfish.” Another sigh and Nick was gone, leaving Harry lying alone in the dark, trying to disentangle the words still hanging in the air.

Trying to figure out what he wanted.

But deep down, he knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly. Even if that something was out there kissing other boys in bathrooms and splintering Harry’s heart into pieces doing it.

He wanted blue eyes and roguish smiles and soft brown hair and an embrace that felt like coming home.

And with this destructive knowledge, Harry fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! :) (Sorry for the late update, and also happy belated Christmas to all of you).
> 
> P.S: I promise next chapter will be a good one. Good things coming. Enough with this stupid pining.


	18. Glitter Handprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEVERE CORNINESS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
> 
> (Also, sorry for the late update!!!!)
> 
> Louis succumbs.

 

_Song(s):_

_"Never Let Me Go" - Florence and the Machine_

_"Lay Down With You" - Frazey Ford_

 

Louis sat up, head spinning, throat raw, and cheeks burning from all the long overdue tears.

There was a short rap on the door. “Tommo? You in there? Are you al-“

Louis stretched up and opened the door, stunning Niall silent. Louis dropped back onto the floor, feeling heavy as a bag of stones.

Niall blinked, clearly taken aback by Louis showing this much human emotion, then closed the door and wordlessly sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor beside him.

Louis took a breath, then held it for a second or two before speaking. He wanted to tell Niall that he was fine, that he was okay, one hundred percent fine, one hundred percent okay, but he was tired of lying and pretending and both of them knew Louis hadn’t been alright for quite some time.

Words started tumbling out of him.

“I miss them, Niall. I miss them all so much. I miss everything about them. But I fucked it up and I think I did so irrevocably.”

Niall reached out a hand and put it on Louis’ shoulder. “Nothing is irrevocable.”

“But that also means nothing lasts forever.”

“Yeah. And you’re more okay than you were just a year ago, Lou. Time can fix everything. _You_ can fix everything.”

“But I’m not sure I want to. It would mean setting myself up for heartbreak all over again. Setting myself up for loss.”

“You do want to. That’s what humans do. Go out and look for something to break their heart. It’s as much part of the human condition as it is stupid.”

Louis guessed what Niall was trying to tell him was that he had loved and he had lost and now it was time to do it all over again. But for that, Louis was not strong enough. He had broken Harry’s heart once before. Harry had unknowingly broken his a hundred times over, every single day Louis had seen him, his heart had splintered just that little bit more. But it was enough now. No more. No more heartbreak, on either part.

“I can’t do it, Niall. I can’t disappoint the people I love most again. I won’t. I want to stop hurting the people I care about.”

Niall huffed a humorless laugh. “So what? You’ll just never love another human being again?” “

If that’s what it takes, then yes.”

“Then you miss the entire point of being alive.”

“I’ve always sucked at that.”

Louis swallowed down all the remaining tears closing up his throat and flushed the toilet with his vomit. Niall sighed heavily, then rose to his feet. “I hope you’ll feel better soon, Lou. I really do. But you still don’t get it.”

Louis didn’t bother asking what exactly it was he didn’t get.

-

The next day, the theatre group met to discuss the details of their trip to London. Ben had mailed James all the formalities, and Harry offered that they all get a room in one of his father’s hotels right in the center of London. The idea of living in one of the most luxurious hotels in England was met with great enthusiasm. Louis couldn’t care less.

The entire time, the only thing he was able to focus on was not focusing on Harry.

Except for a small, polite ‘hello’, he had not spoken a word to him the entire day. It was for the best. That was what he said to himself over and over and over again for the entire length of the meeting.

It was for the best.

Niall kept rolling his eyes at him and his childish stubbornness, but Louis was determined in his decision.

It was a self-protection thing. Another important part of the human condition.

But most of all, it was a Harry-protection thing.

It was complicated.

He was too focused on his determination to notice Harry approaching him until he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to look into a pair of painfully familiar green eyes. “How are you?”

Shit. This would be harder than anticipated.

“I’m good.”

“…And Stan?”

Wtf. “Yeah, I suppose he’s good too.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Silence.

Louis turned to leave, feeling like he might start crying again any second.

“Louis, is anything wrong? Did something happen?”

There was a coldness in his voice, a tightness to his lips. As if he was angry with Louis, for whatever reason.

Louis turned back and shot Harry a thin-lipped smile. “Nothing is wrong, Harry. Just let it go. We can stop pretending now.”

_Pretending this could ever have worked out. Pretending this won’t inevitably end in heartbreak. Pretending I could ever be your friend, or anything more._

He didn’t look Harry in the eyes and turned around again quickly, walking away from him and this goddamn theatre as quickly as possible.

He passed Niall lounging on one of the red velvet seats with his feet up on the back rest before him. Louis expected Niall to scold him for his behavior, tell him to turn around and apologize, let go of this stupid shtick and finally let down these goddamn walls, but he didn’t. He merely looked up at Louis and gave him an understanding smile. That somehow made it so much worse.

Feeling sick with self-hate, Louis pushed open the doors and left the theatre.

-

Two days passed without Louis so much as hearing a word uttered from Harry or seeing a glimpse of him.

 _It’s for the best. It’s for the best. It’s for the best_.

The more he said it, the easier it was to believe it.

He was on his way back home from the café.

His shirt was covered in scone crumbs and his hair was spiked with sweat. Dark, brooding clouds hung low in the sky, thundering with building static.

Jaded, he wiped a few stray crumbs from his greasy shirt.

When he looked up again, he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling as if he’d run into a cement wall.

Harry was leaning against a street lamp, feet crossed at the ankle. Despite his cool demeanor, Louis saw the little things betraying his nervousness. The fingers twiddling with the hem of his black blouse; the way he was chewing on his bottom lip.

Without all these tiny quirks and the grey sky above his head, everything would look exactly the same as it had when Harry had been waiting for Louis, trying desperately to persuade him to partake in the play. Seemed like a few life-times ago.

Exhaling, Louis lowered his head again and hurried past Harry without being seen. But Harry did, anyway.

“Louis.”

Louis pinched his face, then turned around reluctantly.

“Hi,” he said, flustered.

“Hi.” Harry’s voice sounded as grim as the clouds hanging above him looked. That boy really could be fucking intimidating when he wasn’t occupied with being a glitter-obsessed, fashionable, genteel fairy.

“How can I help you?” Louis said, feigning airiness and callousness. A true thespian.

“Really?” Harry crossed his arms. “We’re back to this now? Pretending that we don’t care?”

Louis sighed dramatically and turned around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry walked after him. “I want to know why you’re like this. Why do you always have to be like this?”

“Be like _what_?” Louis snapped over his shoulder.

“Complicated, brattish, stubborn, unreasonable,” Harry counted. “Ignorant, mean-“

“Alright, I think I’ve got it.” Louis sped up his step.

Harry caught up to him and grabbed hold of Louis’ arm. “Please. Just tell me what’s wrong this time. I’m tired of fighting.”

So was Louis. “Fighting is the only way to survive,” he hissed and ripped his arm away.

He was half-way down the street, almost by his door.

Fighting against ourselves, fighting against everyone else.

“What bullshit is that?” Harry called.

Louis didn’t turn around again. He couldn’t. Looking at Harry meant his carefully stacked walls crashing to the ground.

Harry started following behind him again and Louis almost started crying with built-up anger and frustration. “Just go away, Harry. Leave me alone,” he demanded through clenched teeth, swallowing down all the other words rising in his throat.

“But why?” Harry snapped. He lost a frustrated sigh so loud even Louis heard it three steps ahead of him.

The words pounded against every molecule in his lungs and stomach and mouth and brain, demanding to be said; to be heard; to be given the chance.

And Louis was tired of fighting them.

He was tired of fighting everything.

“What is wrong? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!” Harry exploded behind him.

 _Everything, Harry. Everything is wrong_.

There was the tiniest, tired crack in Harry’s voice. “Please.”

Louis whirled around. “You! You are wrong! You and your words and your strange clothes and your painted nails and your loud laugh and long hair and love for bad movies and _I love you_!”

The silence following was so loud it made Louis’ eardrums feel as if they might burst.

Harry looked as if Louis had slapped him. “What?”

Overhead, the clouds rumbled in anguish.

Louis swallowed. His voice was brittle. “You heard me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t-“ He closed his eyes. “That’s not fair to you or to Nick.”

So this was it. The end of what was maybe the best friendship he had ever had. Destroyed. By him. Again. Just like he had and would always destroy everything.

Harry’s face looked pale, his eyes big and haunted. “What has Nick got to do with this?”

“You’re with him, aren’t you? He slept over at your place the other night. After I… saw you in the bathroom.”

There was a wrinkle knitting together Harry’s brows. “Oh. Now I get it.” Louis saw him chewing on his bottom lip. “But what was that thing with Stan then? Why were you kissing him?”

Louis did not reply. There were so many words inside of him, but now that he needed them they somehow all seemed to have evaporated; turned into this horrible pressing feeling on his lungs. “We all have our coping mechanisms. Ways to get by. Self-protection. It’s human nature, really.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Louis. Can’t you see you’re not making any sense? I’m not with Nick.”

Relief flooded through Louis, then the ice-cold realization that this wasn’t actually good news based on the expression on Harry’s face.

“There are other ways to get by than to hurt everyone trying to get close to you; trying to help you. You don’t have to be alone.”

“Not for me there aren’t.” But Louis sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry and unconsciously wrapped his arms around his middle in a childish gesture of self-protection. He unwrapped them instantly, but that just made him look fidgety. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I told you. I told you I’m fucked up. You deserve better; you really do. I’m sorry for ruining everything.”

Harry didn’t reply which hurt Louis somewhere deep inside his chest cavity. “This is too much. I need to think. I need time.” Harry’s words were so quiet Louis almost didn’t hear them.

Deep regret spread in his stomach like a creeping, dark stain of ink. “Yes, of course. I get it. I… I’m sorry. For everything. I truly am.”

Harry threw him one last long, stricken look with his broken green eyes before he turned around and marched down the street, away from Louis. Louis wanted to chase after him and say everything else he hadn’t gotten the chance to yet and it took every single bit of his remaining strength to keep his feet on the asphalt.

It was better this way. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? For Harry to realize Louis was not the sort of person he should be with. For him to be safe from this ticking timebomb called Louis. He hadn’t expected to hurt this much.

From the dark, gloomy sky, a droplet of water fell – landing on his brow. Louis closed his eyes at the cool, hard splash, but made no move to wipe the water away.

What a cliché. Or maybe it was simply the dreadful English climate and no sign from the universe that this was, in fact, a third-rate romantic novel with an eventual happy ending. Nope, just this fucking temperate, oceanic climate of this stupid island.

The cold rain now fell in fat drops that clung to his eyelashes.

Resigned and heavy, he turned, unlocked the door to the apartment building and trudged up the stairs, a fighter defeated in his never-ending fight against this enemy he could never quite put his finger on.

-

Louis stayed in the shower for almost an hour, thinking and breathing and hurting.

Why had he done that? Why couldn’t he have just shut up? Why did he always mess everything up?

Of course Harry had taken flight – that would be everyone’s reaction at a love declaration as stupid and explosive as Louis’. The normal reaction when you saw a ticking time bomb in front of you. Take flight. Hide. Run.

Finally, he emerged from the shower and put on a worn-out shirt and tracksuit bottoms. The apartment was eerie and unusually quiet with Niall down at the pub for the night and Liam over at Zayn’s house for dinner; meeting the parents. Louis had never met any of his significant other’s parents. Again: time bomb. Given, none of his relationships had lasted longer than three months, but Liam and Zayn had barely been together for one and Zayn was already dragging Liam to his family dinners. No one would be surprised if they got married tomorrow.

The rain had gotten stronger and was hammering against the windows, running down the glass in a blanket of velvety water.

He hadn’t turned on any lights in the apartment and so the light from the television was the only illumination as he sat on the couch -too worn out to care about its profanation- the wet strands of his hair still dripping onto his shoulders.

He resisted the urge to call Harry which was so hard he had to switch off his phone and put it in the kitchen cupboard for good measure. Harry needed his space and Louis needed to respect that, however agonizing it might be.

After ten agitating minutes of pretending this was a normal night like any else, Louis finally gave in and got on his feet again, searching the apartment for a pack of cigarettes. He was rummaging through one of his drawers resembling a battlefield of clothes, caps, hats, crumbs, and lighters, getting more and more frustrated by the second, when there was a soft knock on the apartment door, so quiet Louis almost didn’t hear it. Apparently Niall’s shift had ended early. Or maybe Zayn’s parents had thrown them out. Whoever it was, hopefully they had a goddamn cigarette.

On bare feet, he stalked to the door and opened it, not prepared for what was behind it. It was Harry, wet to the bones and strands of his brown hair clinging to his pale cheeks.

Louis’ eyes lowered to the puddle of water forming around Harry’s pair of golden boots, then back up to his big eyes. “Hi,” he said, his voice breaking on the word. He cleared his throat. “You’re dripping.”

_Great, Louis. Tactful as ever._

Harry’s eyes followed Louis’ down to the puddle. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Two seconds passed, then Harry asked hesitantly, “Can I come in?”

Feeling stupid for not having asked him to do that in the first place, Louis quickly opened the door wider and stepped aside so Harry could enter the dark apartment, the rain slashing against the windows as if trying to join them. “What are you doing here?” Louis asked, not able to hold back the question any longer. He felt a drop of shower water fall from his hair and land on his shoulder, soaking through his shirt.

The air was so heavy with bottled up emotions and words, it was a wonder the room didn’t crash to the ground. For a little while, Harry didn’t reply.

It seemed to Louis that his face had changed – he looked younger, more vulnerable – and when he finally spoke, it was without his usual ease. “To be honest… I don’t know. I never know with you. You always seem to make me lose all sane thoughts and reasonable judgement I might still have. But then again, you don’t have a lot of either those things either, so I guess it’s fine. I-“ He breathed in deeply, then exhaled with a shudder- “I didn’t plan to come here. To be honest, I was done. It was all too much. The play, and Nick and then- you. It was too much. You don’t know how long I’d been waiting for you to say those words; you really have no idea.”

Louis’ heart gave a small jump and his feet unwillingly took a small step forward.

“But then you said them and all I could feel was sadness, because… because that’s what a sane person would feel. So I went straight home with the intention to call Nick and tell him I liked him too and have an amazing, perfect life- because he’s a perfectly amazing person; a great friend, and it would be so _easy_ with him. It would be so, so easy. Perfect, in fact. But somehow, for some stupid reason, I couldn’t get myself to make that call. When you know, you know – that’s what they always say. I didn’t know, but I still _knew_. God, I’m talking such rubbish now, but I still need to say it: I guess I don’t want perfect. I don’t want perfect, because somehow, the only thing, however un-perfect it might be“- Harry looked up, his eyes big and child-like- “is you.”

Louis took another step forward, his heart absorbing the words like a sponge. “Harry, I-“

Harry raised a hand. “Don’t. Please don’t say anything yet. I just need to get this out first. I need you to hear it. Please listen.”

Louis’ mouth closed and he held back, only staring at Harry, his body framed by the dark windows; his voice accommodated by the soft pounding of rain.

“It just always felt like… like you were actually seeing me. People don’t actually see me. They see my money, or my face, or my family, but they don’t actually see _me_. But you did. You don’t like me for any of that because you didn’t see that. You saw me.”

Louis opened his mouth again, but Harry stopped him with another motion of the hand.

“Okay.” He swallowed hard and took a breath. “You really are not perfect. You’re complicated, and dramatic, and so goddamn opinionated. You’re a handful. You really are. But you know what? So am I. We are two absolute and utter messes, we are. But your mess and mine - they fit. Like really complicated puzzle pieces. So I guess that’s why, against all reason and better judgement and logic, I came back. Because once you realize that you have found your missing puzzle piece, you’ll never feel complete without it anymore.”

Louis’ heart absorbed the words like a sponge and all the lingering doubt in his mind was taken over by this rush of exquisite emotion; this wave of adoration and love. He walked forward, unbelieving, bewildered, dazzled.

They were close now, so close the tips of their feet were almost touching and Louis could feel the coolness of the rainwater seep into his own skin, fizzing as it met the warm shower water on his own skin.

“Can I say something now?” Louis asked quietly, fixing his eyes firmly on Harry’s.

Slowly, Harry nodded, and Louis finally let go, letting the words take over.

“I love you, Harry Edward Styles. I think I’ve loved you even before I knew it. I think I may have loved you even when I hated you. When I saw you dancing like some lunatic in a snowstorm and when you sneaked up on me in that alleyway. I love you, Harry.”

He didn’t so much speak the words as he became them. They seemed to form his entire being.

Rainwater glistened on Harry’s cheeks, sucking the little remaining light form the room.

Tentatively, Louis raised a hand and brushed his knuckles over Harry’s damp skin. He watched as a little, tentative smile started to form in the corners of Harry’s mouth and he lifted his eyes, just his eyes, up to Louis.

“I love you,” Louis said again, watching his own fingers gently push back a snaking tendril of hair behind Harry’s ear.

Harry lifted his whole face now. His eyes were wary. Hopeful.

Louis leaned in to outline Harry’s mouth, his cheek, the curve of his jaw with kisses. The words stalled in his throat as he whispered them in the dark, against the warm, damp skin of Harry’s neck. „I was unhappy, and lost, and broken, and thought I would never be truly happy again without having to pretend I was, but then- you walked into my life, or stumbled, with your crazy weird clothes and quotes and bad jokes and infectious laughter- and you turned my world upside down. You crept into my heart, Harry Styles, and then you nestled down there and refused to leave again. And I didn’t want you to.“

He laughed raspily, his nose brushing Harry’s collarbone. “And now you’ve got me talking like a character from a third-rate romantic novel, and I should properly hate you for it.” Harry’s hot breath grazed Louis’ skin as he chuckled quietly.

Fighting the ache in the back of his throat, Louis ran a finger against Harry’s cheeks and nose, resting it against his full lip. “And the worst part is that I may actually be starting to like it.”

For maybe the first time in years, Louis felt open and unguarded without any of his usual defenses – booze, parties, flirting, sarcasm- there to stop the feelings from flooding in. And that was the most terrifying thing he could imagine.

But then there was Harry, his bright green eyes anchoring Louis and holding him together.

Maybe it would all be all right after all.

He laced his fingers with Harry’s and rubbed his thumb gently across the delicate fretwork of veins at his wrist, the pulse of his thumb against the pulse beneath Harry’s skin, faint but constant and reassuring.

They were both here. And they were alive.

“Kiss me, Louis.” Harry’s voice cracked, Louis’ heart along with it.

He obliged.

And then they were kissing, their bodies tightly pressed together, pulses rapid and in-synch.

Louis reached up to loop his arms around Harry’s neck, the tips of his fingers tangling in Harry’s dark curls. Inside, everything grew too tight, as if pressurized. Louis’ knees buckled, and he felt himself beyond words. Beyond everything but Harry.

Faintly, he felt his back hit the wall behind him with a soft thud, the kiss deepening. Harry’s hands slid to the back of Louis’ thighs and he lifted Louis up as if he weighed nothing. Louis pulled him closer still, keeping his legs tightly around Harry’s waist. Louis slid his hands down to Harry’s shoulders, broad and strong under his grip. A wicked grin quirked up Harry lips as he pulled away to look at Louis’ bedraggled state. “Can I?”

He didn’t wait for Louis’ answer before kneeling down, making quick work of Louis’ tracksuit bottoms. Before he pressed a kiss to Louis’ abdomen. Lower. Lower.

Louis’ hands fiercly slipped into his hair, burying his hands in the thick waves, winding them around his fingers.

Harry took his time. Licked and stroked until Louis was on the brink of exploding. Another small flick of his tongue made Louis groan and arch as the exquisite rush zoomed through him.

He was sweating and flushed. He was positively lost.

Harry laughed against him, a gentle quiet chuckle that sent warm chills over Louis’ skin. He rose to his full height, then hoisted Louis up again, and pinned him against that wall.

In his stare, Louis could have sworn worlds dwelled. Galaxies, nebulas. A celestial phenomenon.

“My god,” Louis grinned, breathing heavily. “I don’t know how I’ve managed to not combust over these last few months, every time I saw you.”

The dimples appeared again, deep and lovely and familiar as always. Harry leaned forward, then whispered hotly into Louis’ ear, “That was only just the prelude.”

Louis swatted at his chest. “Sometimes I can’t stand you and your stupid words, you know?”

Giggling, Harry pressed another kiss to Louis’ mouth, shutting him up. “Now get these wet clothes off you, will you?” Louis mumbled against his lips. “They’re unpleasantly chilly and unfortunately covering quite a spectacle I would like to see.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” Harry laughed again, watching Louis fondly.

Louis was out of breath, out of air, yet so filled with life and brimming with happiness, he felt like a chemical reaction gone very very wrong.

It was confusing and profound, this new sensation. This alive-ness. This lack of angst and grief. Feeling to the fullest without forcing himself to set a barrier to all this happiness.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but that had never stopped Louis.

“For thee, I shall.”

And he really would. For Harry, he’d do anything. The thing with this whole love debacle was that it made Louis want to talk and talk and talk. To tell Harry everything, even though he had never told any person everything since his mum had passed away.

But with Harry, he sort of never wanted to stop talking. Yet in equal measure, he simply wanted to be quiet and listen to everything Harry had to say.

He wanted to hear every single one of those mad, beautiful thoughts drifting around in that unique brain of his. He wanted to hear all of Harry’s thoughts and words, starting from the first word he had ever said to everything that had come after that.

All those beautiful and weird thoughts that Louis treasured like something infinitely valuable.

But right now, he was quite alright with not speaking at all. They were tearing at each other’s clothes, fumbling with buttons on their way to Louis’ room.

Louis kissed down Harry’s bare chest, listening to his gasps of pleasure. And then they sank onto the mattress together; their tongues dancing, bodies pressed together.

“Hey, Lou?” Louis forced himself to draw back, opening his heavy eyes. “Yes, love?”

Harry chuckled. “Did you just call me love?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yes, I did. I call everyone love. It’s normal.” He crossed his arms. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry giggled. “It’s just, you’ve never called me love before. Strange hearing such sweet names coming out of your mouth.”

“Fuck off.” But he couldn’t suppress the grin spreading on his face. “Love.”

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked, stopping to lean his cheek on his palm.

“Just did,” Louis replied, desperate to get back to the matter at hand. “But do it quickly,” he added, trying to pull Harry back to him.

“I think I should do it this time.”

Louis stopped, unsure. “Oh.”

Had it been anyone else, he probably would have reclined instantly. He had to be in control. But this was Harry. And he could never bring himself to deny him anything, this boy who held everything that Louis was, everything he had left and everything he had found again, in his hands.

He smiled. “If you want to.”

He found Harry smiling down at him, his eyes heavy-lidded while he surveyed Louis’ naked, ready body. Ready again so soon.

With Harry so close, the sight of him naked in Louis’ bed, the smell of him, triggered the blurry memories of their skins sliding over each other, of the exquisite feel of him. Right now, all Louis wanted to do was reconstruct those choppy memories.

Harry reached up for the bottle of lube still in Louis’ bedside drawer and Louis watched as he gently pushed a finger, then two, inside him, a moan slipping out of him at the feeling. Finally, Harry looked up again, his eyes dark and hungry, skin flushed, and teeth biting gently into his bottom lip.

A perky grin took over Louis’ face. He put an arm under his head and rested the side of his face coolly on it. “So… can I ask you a question?”

Harry shook his head desperately, almost pained laughter escaping him. “Shut up, you idiot,” he growled, and slid his hands down to the part where Louis was hard again for him until all Louis’ jokes were gone. He could think of nothing but all this moment was – about tongues and lips and fingers – and how incredible it felt to choose happiness, to allow himself to feel anything like this for the first time in almost three years, to let go of his ghosts.

To let himself be completely alive.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Harry kissed him deeper, a hand sliding down to grip Louis’ thigh, spreading his legs a bit wider so he could settle fully between them. Louis clutched Harry to him, his lips tracing the outline of his mouth.

His hands slid onto Harry’s shoulders, digging into the hard muscle as Harry slowly, so slowly, pushed into him until Louis felt every place they were joined. He tipped his head back again, a moan slipping out past his lips.

He clenched his teeth, panting through his nose. Harry worked his way in, thrusting in small movements, letting Louis adjust to every thick inch of him. And when he was seated inside Louis, when his hands tightened on his hips, he just stopped.

Just stopped, breathing, looking. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” he purred against Louis’ skin. “Every goddamn day since that night in October. About the way you would feel.” Another slight withdrawal, then a plunge in. “The way you taste.”

Louis panted and panted, words stalling in his throat. Their breathing was loud, fast, in-synch. So were their heartbeats. The rain was still sliding down the windows in smooth, wet sheets; little drumbeats.

It was the exact opposite of the intoxicated, wild, untamed thing the last time.

This was gentle. It was a dance, an unguarded sensation of two people who finally let down their walls and let the other one peek inside.

The strange thing was that all of this felt so easy and familiar; yet so different from last time – so different from anything Louis had experienced before. Louis knew that that night he was nearly numb with intoxication, but he could still say with certainty how messy it was. And all Louis knew now is how… safe he felt. How salvaged and secure. Harry was holding him together, while simultaneously splintering him apart with every patient thrust.

Every deep kiss.

Every hot breath.

He felt lost, but he was safe. And he wasn’t alone.

The way Harry pressed reverent kisses along his jaw, his throat, his collarbone; Louis felt loved, cherished. And, in that moment, he could almost believe he was worth all of that. That maybe he could be loved. Despite everything he had done and all of his misdoings in the past.

Louis ran his fingers down Harry’s silky, strong back, over and over.

“God, you’re exquisite.” Harry gritted into his ear, the tips of his hair tickling Louis’ skin. “I don’t think I’ll make it much longer.”

Louis smiled lightly, locking his ankles tighter together. “It’s alright. You can let go.” Harry’s hands were gently intertwined with his until he freed his left one to reach down and wrap his fingers around that part of Louis that was hard again for him, so soon.

Louis leaned up and kissed him gently. Not lightly, but sweetly. Openly.

Without anything between them. So close that not even a piece of paper could fit between them. And Louis didn’t mean that only in the physical sense.

Harry’s hips began to stutter and a low moan rumbled through his chest into Louis’ own. Louis’ control slid further from him, and he felt himself skitter down that path, until that searing relief tore through him, leaving him panting and flushed. Purged.

Harry’s hips stuttered once more and then he was there, following just after Louis; his deep groan rumbled against Louis’ throat, echoing inside his entire body, rattling every single bone and nerve end.

Louis’ legs were still wound around him, hooked together at Harry’s lower back: like this, they went still.

To the last moment of his life, Louis thought. To the last moment of his life he would remember the way Harry buried his head in Louis’ neck, saying his name over and over again as if every other word had been lost in the dark of night outside.

It was still raining. Heavy sheets of water pressed against the window, sluiced over the eaves and down onto the pavement below.

After some time, Harry rolled off Louis wordlessly. They lay next to each other, breathing loudly to the dark ceiling.

Louis turned his head to the side and found Harry looking at him. Grinning boyishly, adorably. Nothing like the strong man who had just made Louis forget every word in every language on the planet.

He raised his brows cockily. “How was I?”

This boy. Jesus.

Still, Louis laughed. Giggled, really. A grown, more or less adult man like him. Fucking giggling. “Oh, you know. Average. A solid six out of ten.”

Harry crossed his arms over his broad, sheeny chest. “I bed your pardon? I was at least an eight. At. Least.”

Louis reached for a pillow beside him and beat it softly at Harry’s chest. “Of course you were, you idiot.” His smile broadened. He couldn’t help it. “You were… what’s that word?” he said jokingly, rolling onto his stomach.

“Amazing?” Harry suggested, returning Louis’ grin. “Fantastic? Splendid? A handsome young English sex god? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

The dimples were back in his cheeks. Deep and lovely.

Louis had wanted to kiss them since the beginning of time.

He leaned down and did.

The dimples broadened even more.

Louis kissed them again.

“Exquisite,” Louis mumbled into Harry’s cheek.

His eyes closed and he inhaled, trying to suck even the smallest of details of this moment into his system so he would never forget them. The way Harry smelled – of mint and apple shampoo and a little bit of sweat -; the way the soft skin of his cheek felt against Louis’ lips; the material of the bed covers and blanket on his stomach and legs; the sound of gently beating rain outside. That feeling of utter disbelief and happiness in his stomach.

Disbelief at his utterly outraging luck, mixed with just that little bit of fatal doubt and dread which he quickly pushed aside in his perfect portrait of the moment.

He drew back slightly, only the tip of his nose still touching Harry’s face. „I don’t know what’s made me into that person I was when I fist met you, the person I had never thought I could ever become, but I think you put me back together, Curly. And I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you. It’s strange what grief can do to you, and I am unbelievably ashamed of what I have let it shape me into. Maybe in some other world, I could have stayed strong, not turn cold and miserable and instead come out the other end kinder and stronger than before. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.“

And he was. His mother had died; his career had died, and some crucial part of himself had left with them. And he hoped with everything he had that it was finally back; that piece of him he had lost.

Harry looked up at him, eyes green and gentle. His voice was firm and soft at the same time. „You’re the strongest person I know, Lou. You really are. And I’m sorry that you ever had to believe you weren’t.“

His arms were open; Louis went into them and let himself be gathered up inside them, shivering down to his bones as Harry locked his ankles behind Louis’ calves, pinning Louis against him. His other hand drew circles on Louis’ lower back. The dimples at his spine.

Louis put his hand on Harry’s bare chest, right over his heart. “I want to stay here forever,” he said, feeling that heart beneath his palm. “Just hit pause.” He replaced his lips with his palm.

Harry slid his arms around Louis’ bare waist, giving a content sigh. “I would like that very much. Our own little universe.”

Louis kissed his chest again, right over that mighty, kind, golden heart.

Tiredness and exhaustion and happiness were slowly starting to drag him down, making his body heavy with all of it. His eyelids were heavy but his soul was light as gossamer. A spider’s web, anchored only by a single thread.

Lazily, he rolled off Harry and lay beside him again, lined up perfectly.

Two puzzle pieces.

Something in his chest caved in, and Harry gathered him up in his arms as Louis buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I don’t want to fall asleep,” Harry murmured, running a finger down the groove of Louis’ spine.

“Me too,” Louis whispered. Because if he fell asleep, it would be over. This felt like a dream, and falling asleep meant waking up. He never wanted to wake up.

He was scared of falling asleep and waking up alone. Wasn’t that what always happened? You woke up, day after day, expecting to see your life in its normal, safe state. Until, one day, you woke up to a life you didn’t recognize.

That’s what had happened to him.

Harry’s finger still gently trailed up and down his spine, engraving its way into Louis’ skin. With his other hand, he gently cupped Louis’ face, resting his brow against Louis’.

The hand was warm and safe.

Louis felt it imprinting onto his cheek.

Probably glittery. He would wake up tomorrow with a glitter handprint across his cheek, because that was what Harry did. He came into a room or a life and left his glittery handprints all over it.

Louis angled his chin and pressed a kiss to the palm.

Their breathing was slowing.

The rain was pattering.

Their hearts were beating.

Louis loved Harry.

And Harry loved Louis.

And it felt so right.

He fell asleep, and it was easy.

-

Sunlight woke Louis.

Sunlight and the back of Harry’s hand crashing against Louis’ cheekbone with alarming strength given that Harry was still asleep. Louis bit back a laugh as he gently picked up Harry’s hand and put it back on his stomach.

The rain had stopped and through the window he spotted a handful of newly fledged cotton wool clouds hanging up in the sky. He wanted to wake Harry and kiss him again and again, but he looked so peaceful with his hair fanned out on the pillow that Louis couldn’t bring himself to do it.

-

Harry was only pretending to be asleep.

He waited for Louis to wake him, a childish little game. It didn’t take long.

He felt Louis’ fingertips graze his eyelids, slip softly over the curve of his cheek, so miniscule and gentle, if Harry hadn’t been awake, he never would have felt it.

He could feel Louis’ gaze on him like a glow.

Being looked at by Louis Tomlinson was like standing in the sun.

It was the most difficult thing he could remember ever doing to stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up.

-

Louis saw the little smile hovering at the edges of Harry’s lips. Saw the ghost of a dimple in his cheek. Saw the slight twitch of his eyelids.

His finger paused on Harry’s jawline. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry’s slightly parted lips, then drew back and watched the smile grow. His eyes opened and he looked at Louis, making him feel like something worth looking at.

And then he spoke. All he said was “Hi,” but it felt like he was breathing out a plume of awe, and Louis melted.

He smirked. “Hi.”

He couldn’t help it. He gave Harry another kiss. And another. “Do you want breakfast? I’ll get us some breakfast.”

He rolled off the bed, but Harry’s hand shot forward and curled around his ankle. “No, don’t go away! I shall die at once if you leave me!”

Louis turned back. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Harry threw himself back onto the mattress. “Not at all.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” Louis gave back and took another step to the door. He heard stertorous breathing behind him and turn back to see Harry’s head hanging off the bed frame, the tips of his hair brushing the floorboards.

Louis laughed. “Fine.”

He decided against killing Harry and jumped back onto the mattress and kissed Harry’s still bare chest, right over his heart. “You can wake up again now, Snow White. I’m not leaving.”

Harry’s laugh rumbled into his mouth, his bones. Louis smiled onto his skin.

“Hey, want to dance?” The edges of Harry’s words seemed to be catching the sunlight as they drifted in the air between them, glinting.

“I thought you didn’t want to get up,” Louis mumbled, tracing a circle around his nipple.

“Dancing doesn’t count. We don’t even have to get out of bed for dancing.”

Louis stretched out like a cat, tucking his arms behind his head as he drawled, “Fine. But I think I’m fine just watching.”

Harry reached for his phone on the bedside table and a few seconds later, a _the Rogue_ song was blasting from the speakers, Harry jumping off the bed and wildly dancing along to the music.

Louis watched him twirl and pirouette over the floorboards, bare and alive.

“C’mon, Lou! Dance with me,” he exclaimed as _the Rogue_ were vocalizing famous lines from literature.

He poked Louis’ ribs, and Louis laughed. “Fine,” he sighed, and joined Harry in his wild jumping around.

They were two boys playing, laughing, dancing. And Louis was way too happy.

The last time he had been this happy, everything had been ruined. It wasn’t possible for one person to carry this much joy around with him. There was always an end to it. An abrupt one. And Louis was scared. He was terrified and he was dancing and everything was fine, but somehow nothing was.

The song ended, but Louis barely noticed because all he could register and think and feel were Harry’s warm lips on his. He used his tongue to trace the corners of Harry’s mouth, the seam of his lips, until he sank back on the bed, pulling Harry on top of him.

His body shuddered, arching up toward Harry’s, hands sliding down to grip his waist. Harry kissed his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. He shifted away just enough to let Louis explore with his palms: the solid expanse of his chest, and below, where Louis found-

There was a knock on the door.

Louis ripped his hand away from Harry.

“Hey, lads, I heard that dreadful music playing, so I figured you might be up. Want something to eat? I made waffles… Well, they were supposed to be waffles, but Liam and Zayn say that’s not what waffles are supposed to taste like. I’m gonna come in now, please don’t traumatize me.”

Harry quickly rolled of Louis and fumbled for a blanket, pulling it over them just in time as the door opened and three curious faces peered inside.

“What the fuck,” Louis hissed, scowling at the intruders. “What are you doing here?!”

Zayn bit into a piece of wobbly dough. “We came back this morning and found your clothes lying around everywhere in the corridor, so we figured you’ve either murdered each other or had sex. Either way, we didn’t want to disturb.”

With an angelic grin, Liam held up a plate on top of which a tower of wonky waffles was piled. “Want some?”

“No, thanks,” Louis replied.

Harry leaned forward, the blanket daring to expose a vital part of him. “I’ll take some.” He grabbed a few of Niall’s baked goods, then leaned back again.

“Alright, thanks for stopping by, but I’d really appreciate it if you leave now,” Louis said, taking one of the drooping waffles.

Niall chose to ignore this dismissal, and only leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, giving the two boys in the bed a look like a proud father. “So you two finally managed to get your shit together.”

Louis took a bite of the waffle.

Niall put a hand over his heart. “I’m so proud.”

“So am I,” Louis said, raising the piece of waffle. “This didn’t make me want to clean my mouth with purifier. You’re actually getting better, Nialler. Maybe next time it’ll even taste like the aimed for dish. And now bugger off.”

Niall grinned. “You sure you want us to leave? Maybe we could stay and-“

Louis hurled a pillow at him, but Niall was quicker. The pillow hit the door and bounced onto the floor with the rest of Harry’s and Louis’ clothes.

Harry fell back against the pillow in a fit of laughter.

Louis kissed him again, and when he made to pull away, Harry slid a hand behind his head and kept him there. He kissed Louis deeply, lazily – as if he’d be content doing nothing but that all day. And what a fine day it would be.

It was pretty simple, really. For once, things were not complicated. Right then, right there, it was just them, together.

Louis pushed away that nagging feeling trying to creep into his veins. Not now. Not ever. He preferred being weak over being lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: Really sorry for the late update, but I've just been really really busy. 
> 
> Thank you so much for still reading, though, I really appreciate it <3<3<3
> 
> (Hope you liked it...)


	19. To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning!!! There are mentions of suicide in this chapter, so please be aware of that before reading.
> 
> Also: Sorry for the quick perspective changes in this chapter, I hope it's not too confusing...
> 
>  
> 
> A play, a song, and some stars. Louis is complicated.
> 
> ("We accept the love we think we deserve." - The Perks of being a Wallflower)

 

_Song(s):_

_"ilomilo" - Billie Eilish_

_"Half a Man" - Dean Lewis_

 

The sound of the suitcase hitting the floor, only barely missing Louis' toes, echoed through the dingy staircase.

“Did you learn nothing from last time?” complained Liam with a look of reproach at the heavy luggage.

“I’ve never been good at learning from my mistakes,” Louis gave back, then proceeded to drag the suitcase out the door and to the awaiting car.

Niall’s head poked through the window. “Hurry up lads, the others already left half an hour ago.” 

“They’re also way more mature than we are,” Zayn pointed out from the backseat, Mr. Whiskers tightly clutched in his bony arms.  

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Louis. “Have you seen the way James jumps up and down when he’s excited? Or the sort of jokes Greg still laughs about?” 

“Less talking, more moving,” Niall ordered. “Get your monstrosity of a suitcase into the boot and then hop in. Where’s Harry?” 

“He went to pick up some stuff from his aunt’s place,” Louis groaned as he heaved his equipment for the next few days into the car.

For the last two weeks, Harry had been more or less living with them. He and Louis had sort of become inseparable.

It had been fourteen days, three hours and a couple of minutes of pure bliss.

Two weeks, three hours and a couple of minutes of pure happiness.

Two weeks, three hours and a couple of minutes of borrowed time.

And the more time passed, the more impossible the idea of ever letting go of Harry Styles became.

The sheer act of letting go of his hand in the morning was a little fight every time.

It was sort of pathetic, really. And Louis abso-fucking-lutely did not mind.  

This feeling; it was maddening. All-encompassing, blinding, deafening love.  

“So where is he? Call him and tell him to hurry up please,” Niall called, softly drumming on the side of Harry’s old camaro.

“No need for that,” Liam said, jerking his chin to the street corner. “There he is.” 

Louis followed his gaze, smile automatically forming as he watched Harry sprint down the sunny street, hair and shawl fluttering behind him in the wind. In one hand, he was carrying his brown leather bag, the other one was clutching his hat so it wouldn’t be yanked off his head. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he yelled. “Wait for me!” 

Maddening, all-encompassing, blinding, deafening fondness. Love.

Shit.  

Panting, Harry came to a halt before them, face shiny from the heat of the sun. “Here I am,” he croaked, doubling forward. “We can go.” 

“Alright now hurry up, boys, we don’t have all day,” Niall said, starting the engine.  

“When did you get so reasonable?” Liam asked, sitting down in the passenger seat. Zayn tucked in his legs so Harry and Louis had space.  

“Since all of you have become lovesick fools without functioning brains,” Niall said.

Harry heaved his luggage into the boot. He looked up, giving Louis a dazzling grin. Louis hadn’t seen him for three hours, yet it felt like forever. Something was seriously wrong with him.

Lovesick fool, indeed.

„That shirt really suits you,“ Harry said.

Louis looked down at his shirt. It had a picture of a hedgehog on it. A hedgehog with sunglasses. And a headband. Standing on a skateboard. It was obviously a very cool shirt. „Why?“ He laughed. 

„Because,“ Harry grins. „It reminds me of you.“ 

„Excuse me?“ 

„I mean, the hedgehog reminds me of you. You’re like a hedgehog as well. Prickly on the outside but soft and fluffy when you really look. Or the other way around. You’re a cool hedgehog.“

Utterly ridiculous. And yet Louis couldn’t help but smile at it. “If you say so, Curly.”  He reached out and took Harry’s hand, warm and familiar in his, then gently pulled him into the car.

Niall turned around. “Everyone here? Seatbelts on?”  When he had made sure everyone was securely positioned, the car finally set into motion and rolled down the street.

Louis’ and Harry’s hands where still threaded together and Harry looked up at him through his lashes

“You ready for London?” Louis asked quietly, squeezing Harry’s hand. 

Before Harry had a chance to reply, Niall exclaimed loudly “Of course we’re ready!”, honking on the steering wheel. “London, here we come!”

Liam rolled down the windows to let the warm air in, Niall turned up the music, and there they went. Harry squeezed Louis’ hand tightly. “It will be an awfully big adventure.” 

Louis regarded Harry fondly, hair dancing in the breeze.

Everything _is with you._     

-

Harry closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the prickly breeze caressing his skin, then opened them again because he didn’t like closing his eyes with Louis Tomlinson right beside him. It made him feel like he was missing out on something huge.

Instead, he turned his head and looked at him, at his soft brown hair and the small constellation of freckles the sun had brought out on his cheeks. The music playing from the speakers was soft and melodic, just like the wind and the air. Harry was happy. Maybe happier than he had ever been in his life. He felt gloriously, completely, marvelously alive.

Louis looked up and saw Harry watching him. Harry smiled.

Louis’ answering smile was brighter than the sunlight illuminating the car.

“You’re like the sun, Lou,” Harry found himself saying.

His brain and every shred of reason in his body had suffered a head-on collision with love, a clash that left nothing but the embodiment of that love with the name Louis Tomlinson.

Louis started for a moment, then raised his brows, a light smirk hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Why am I like the sun? Because I’m so hot?” 

Harry chuckled. “Because you’re destructive.”

 _And because one day, you will burn me. You will explode and take me with you, leaving nothing but a bleak, dark nothing behind_.  

“I like that,” Louis murmured. “What would you be, then? A star?” 

“The sun is a star. You’re already the biggest star there is.” He paused. “I think I’d like to be the moon.” 

“But then we won’t ever get to see each other, Curly.” 

“I’d find a way to cross the sky for you.” 

Louis rolled his eyes and pretended to gag. “You sap.”  

But Harry saw the twitch in his lips, the way he cast his eyes down and squeezed Harry’s hand a little tighter. 

-

They arrived in London late afternoon, long shadows stretching over the crowded pavement, reaching for their small, white car with cool fingers.

Zayn leaned out the window with big eyes, holding up Mr. Whiskers as if in reenactment of a Lion King scene to show the disgruntled cat the sights.

“That poor fucker,” Louis said and reached out to pat the cat on its bald head. Apparently he had grown to accept, if not even somewhat like, the cat at some point. “I’m sure he really doesn’t want to be here.” 

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. “Holy shit,” Niall aspirated, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better glimpse at their housing for the next few days. “I always forget how fancy these things are.” 

Harry leaned back, trying not to cringe at the sight of the giant, elegant hotel in front of them, _Styles_ written in fancy letters over its entrance. “Home sweet home,” he muttered bitterly under his breath.

As if on cue, a man in suit stepped forward and opened their doors, two other men immediately getting their luggage and carrying it out of sight. Louis opened his mouth in protest, but his human-sized suitcase was already gone.  

They entered the shiny lobby with its high ceiling, gleaming floor, smooth carpet, and lavishly green houseplants. They could not have been more unfitting in the scene if they had tried. Five boys and a very grumpy cat in the middle of a room made of nothing but money.

James came toward them from the elevators, wearing only a fluffy, white bathrobe and slippers, a champagne glass in his hand. “There you are, boys, finally!” He had a bright grin on his round face. “Everyone’s down at the spa. You need to try those massages! I’ve already had three. It’s absolutely incredible! And don’t even get me started on the food!” 

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Niall said, taking the room keys the man behind the lobby counter held out to him.

They took the elevator up to their floor before they all split apart to look at their rooms. Harry opened the door to his and Louis’ room.

Behind him, he could hear an ecstatic cry of joy from Niall and an incredulous huff from Liam.  

“You’ve got be kidding me,” said Louis as he took in the lavish room. “That bed is bigger than my entire bedroom.” He dropped down on the mattress, spreading his arms like a starfish. “Look, I can’t even reach both endings at the same time.”  

Harry turned around and took in the all too familiar sight. Everything was still the exact same as it had been when he had been a boy. Nothing had changed. Except for him.

The entire hotel felt like an ill-fitting glove.

Louis picked himself up onto his elbows. “Will your dad be there tomorrow?” 

Harry turned to him. “He said he’d come. So, I don’t know. My mum won’t make it, though, she couldn’t get time off work. She’ll come to the other show.” He took a step toward the bed. “Do you think this’ll change anything? These shows? Will we all suddenly be famous actors?” 

Louis fell back onto his back. “I only know that whatever happens, you’re going to make it, Curly. You were meant for this. You walk into a room and you’ve got everyone’s attention.” 

Harry cocked up his eyebrows. “Like the moon?” 

Louis grinned. “Just like the moon.” 

Harry took another step and before Louis knew what was happening, Harry was climbing over him and straddling him, holding his hands over his head so he was helpless. “And now there’s an eclipse.” 

“And now there’s an eclipse,” Louis agreed, smiling up at him. His sapphire eyes shone with joy – with love.  

Harry leaned down and kissed him. A supernova.    

-

“It’s huge,” Liam breathed, staring out over the empty audience.  

Harry glanced to the side and saw Louis biting back a smile. This was probably one of the smallest venues he had ever performed at, only second to the one back home.  

“Fuck, I’m going to shit myself,” said Greg behind them.  

“This is quite nerve-wracking, isn’t it? Never thought I’d ever experience anything as exciting as this since my dear Reginald passed,” said Mrs. Addie. The words were barely decipherable, because Mrs. Addie, in reference to the weather, had decided to remove her teeth.

Harry looked back over the abundance of seats before them, the possibilities they held. He flexed his toes inside his boots in excitement.

They all stayed there for some time, just stood on the stage – their stage – until eventually, one after one, their friends left, going back to explore the city or the hotel or, in Niall’s case, the various restaurants.

Only Harry and Louis remained, standing and looking. “I can’t believe this is real,” Harry said, gaze travelling over the ceiling. “That we’re actually going to perform here. In a real, proper theatre. A real, proper theatre in London, of all places. I might combust with excitement.” 

“Please don’t. I feel like that would be a lot of cleaning up on my part. And a lot of extra work on James’s part when he’s trying to find a new Tinkerbell on such short notice.” 

Harry chuckled, but pinched Louis’ wrist, stepping out of his embrace. “Haha. Really funny.” 

“I don’t know why that sounds so ironic. I am hilarious, to your information.” 

Harry pinched him again, but Louis caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. “You’re all going to be great, don’t worry.” 

Harry turned his head back to the empty seats. “So will you. This is going to be your big comeback, I know it. Everyone will fall in love with you again. And then you can pick up where you left off three years ago.” He looked back at Louis. “You deserve this so much, Lou. This is your big second chance.”   

“Yeah maybe…” Louis said, dropping Harry’s hand. “Who knows.” 

“I know,” Harry grinned, taking a step toward him. “Aren’t you happy about it?” 

Louis looked up. “’Course I am. This has always been my dream. And getting to do it with you is a bonus.” 

Harry locked his fingers behind Louis’ neck, resting their foreheads against each other. “This is going to be so amazing.”  

Louis smiled. There was a determination in his eyes. Harry had grown to know that look and what it meant. He had seen it just before the play. It was the look that marked Louis Tomlinson out as someone who did what he set his mind to. As someone fierce and stubborn. A fighter.

But his blue eyes softened as he cupped Harry’s face. He leaned up and kissed him gently. Openly. His mouth was soft and sure, the kiss slow, his hands holding Harry close, pressed along the warm line of his body.

The auditorium and stage around them were the vastness of space, and they were right in the middle of it all. And Harry started wondering when exactly the universe had rearranged itself and started spinning around Louis Tomlinson. When exactly did Louis Tomlinson become the center of his universe?  His own personal little sun. 

-

When they got back to their hotel room, the sky outside was already dark, bleeding with pink and purple at the edges.

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching telly while eating expensive room service in their bathrobes while the others were down at the spa, being spoilt.

Harry got up with a groan. “Alright, I’m gonna go to bed.”

He slipped into his pajamas while Louis stayed on the bed. “I can’t get up,” he moaned, clutching his stomach. “I ate too much. I think I might throw up.” 

Harry threw a shirt at him. “You’re fine,” he laughed. “Get up.” 

“Never. You’re gonna have to carry me to the theatre tomorrow night.” 

Harry laughed again, making his way to the bathroom where he fished for his toothbrush. “Fine. Will do.”    

Louis stared up at the ceiling, feeling all the wagon wheels and lemon tarts and god-knew-what-else roll inside his stomach. He felt tired and content.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash in the bathroom; the sound of splintering glass.

He lifted his head. “Harry? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I dropped a glass. It shattered. It’s fine. Don’t worry.” 

“Alright. Should I help you clean up the shards?” 

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it. You stay there and wallow in self-pity some more.” 

Hearing the fond smile in Harry’s voice made Louis grin. “Will do.” 

Another few minutes passed.

Louis picked up his phone and started scrolling through it, waiting for Harry to come back to he could burn up all those calories in a fun way.

A giddy excitement started to build in his stomach amid all the food. God, he really was seven years old again, wasn’t he?   

-

Harry was kneeling amid the broken glass, picking up the pieces one by one. He assembled the last one on the edge of the bathtub, then got up again and picked up his toothbrush.

That’s when he saw it. A gash on his palm. Not big, not hurtful, only a small one.

Quickly, he grabbed a towel and pressed it against the wound. As he did so, his eyes fell to the floor again. At his feet. At the small pool of blood spreading around them.

He had stepped into one of the shards. Typical.

He leaned down to inspect the foot. This wound also wasn’t very big, nor was it deep. Just a small scratch, really. Nonetheless, there was blood on the tiles. Annoyed by his own clumsiness, Harry leaned down to rub it away.

A sudden clamminess took over his skin, cold sweat covering his body. The blood rushed out of his head. The world tilted sideways. There was static in his ears.

_Bathroom tiles._

_Blood._

_Moons._

He felt his knees meet the tiled floor.

He had only been six, but he remembered every detail of it as if it had happened yesterday. Down to the navy-blue pajamas he had been wearing. The ones with little moons on them.

The world was cotton wool.

His voice was gone.

So was his breath.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t-   

-

“Harry? Are you alright in there?” Louis called, sitting up on the bed. "How long are you planning to brush your teeth for? I've got better ideas for opening the night."

No reply. 

Louis stalked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. “Harry?” His hand came up to his mouth. “Harry? Oh my god, what happened?”

The sight nearly knocked the breath out of his body.

Harry, kneeling on the tiled floor, head in his hands. His fingers were pulling at his own hair as if trying to rip it out. Louis fell to the floor beside him. “Oh my god, Harry. What happened? Tell me what’s wrong. Jesus, you’re bleeding…” He slung an arm around Harry’s chest. “Please talk to me. Should I call an ambulance?”

He reached for Harry’s fingers and tried to gently peel them away from his face. “Look at me, Hazza. I want you to look at me.”

The skin of Harry’s face was completely white as if all the blood had left his body. “You’re having a panic attack, Hazza. But you’ll be fine, I promise. Please look at me.” 

Gently, he managed to pull Harry’s hands from his face. He knew this feeling. He remembered the way his throat had constricted so tightly, to the point where he felt like he was choking. He remembered the way his blood seemed to have pressed against his skin as if trying to escape. He remembered the walls closing in on him, the world losing shape. He remembered the feeling of everything being muffled until it felt like you were under water, desperately treading; drowning. He remembered it all from that night in the hospital bed, and then from almost every night after that.  

“Okay, you have to breathe now, Hazza, alright? I know it’s seems hard, but you have to try, okay? You can do this. It may seem impossible, but you can do this. Breathe with me now, okay love? Inhale, and exhale. That simple.” He slowly breathed in, then out. Harry mimicked him, still violently shaking. “In… and out… You’re doing great, love. In… and out…” 

They repeated the breathing until Harry’s shaking slowly ebbed off and he managed to sit up and lean against the bathtub. Louis scooted over next to him, running his hand in circles over Harry’s back.    

He waited for Harry’s breathing to slow, then asked, quietly, „What happened, Haz? Do you want to talk about it?“

To his horror, he watched as a tear slid down Harry’s cheek. „I - I’m sorry,“ he muttered, wiping it away. „I’m sorry I freaked out like this. I just- I saw the blood and- and the tiles and everything - it all came back.“

„What came back?“ Louis inquired cautiously.

Harry started crying harder now, each sob tearing a ragged line through Louis’ heart.

He slung his arms tighter around Harry. This wasn’t right. This was fizzy, alive, gorgeous Harry Styles. But he had glimpsed behind that facade a lot of times now, though never quite as fully as this. He was reminded of the broken look that sometimes took over his eyes when he thought no one was watching; the scars on his arm.

Louis wanted nothing more than to shovel all this sadness out of him with his bare hands, take off the weight and then pile it atop his own shoulders.

Moments passed, lots and lots of them, with them just holding on to each other, until Harry found the voice to speak. His face was white, eyes cast down, lashes feathered against his wet cheekbones.

He swallowed. His voice was bruised and unguarded. „I was seven. My - my mother had just divorced my father, and he - he was really upset about it. It hadn’t thought anything could ever faze him, but it did. I couldn’t sleep that night, so I - I went looking for him to read me something. My mum would always read to me when I couldn’t sleep. But she wasn’t there; she had left the day before, so I wanted to ask my dad. He wasn’t in his room, so I sat on the bed and waited for him.“ He swallowed again, eyes fixed on the white tiles. „He didn’t come, though. I waited for ages, but he didn’t come. That’s when I heard the noise. It was a crash, coming from the bathroom. He had been in there all along. So I went to the door and opened it and…" Another sob shook his body. Louis held his breath.

"He tried to kill himself, Lou. He took a bunch of pills, then ran himself a bath to fall asleep in there. There was some water, on the floor. He slipped. He slipped and hit his head mighty hard on the edge of the tub. Funnily enough, he hadn’t taken enough pills to get the job done, but the head was the real danger. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?“ He offered a ghost of a smirk for his joke, but it vanished almost instantly. „Anyway, I heard the crash. The sound of his head meeting the tiles.“

His voice broke, his lips started quivering again. „There was so much blood, Lou. So, so much blood. I knelt down beside him, but I didn’t know what to do. I was only seven. Eventually, I got up and phoned an ambulance, slipping on the blood. And then I sat there beside him, in his blood, waiting. It felt like hours, waiting there. Days. They managed to save him, the doctors. When my dad woke up, he made me promise not to tell a single person what had happened that night. That he’d tried to take his own life. He made me swear. How could I leave him, after that? My mother and sister didn’t understand me. They didn’t get why I wanted to stay with him. He’d been a terrible father, and an even worse husband. But it’s really hard, leaving someone after you’ve spent an hour sitting in their blood, holding their limp hand. I was scared he’d do it again. And this time, it’d be my fault.“

He took a deep, shaky breath. „You’re the first person I’ve ever told any of this. The fist person I broke my promise for.“

Louis felt a tear drop down his own chin. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. „I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry. No one should go through something like that.“

Harry gave Louis’ knee a brief squeeze, but continued staring at the floor, eyes starry and distant. „Lou, have you ever…?“ He sounded careful, almost scared to hear the answer. He didn't finish the question, but Louis understood, anyway.  _Have you ever tried taking your own life._

Louis remembered it in flashes. Standing on that hospital roof, the city sprawling out below, hands gripping the railing.

The drugs the doctors had given him against the depression and that time he had shaken all of them into the hollow of his hand and stared at them.

That time he had gone to a party, had taken and swallowed everything and anything people had given him, more and more and more until the world had gone dark and time and space and sense hadn’t existed anymore. Vomiting up his guts, lying on the ground, hands touching him, darkness pressing in on him, more and more and more…

Then he remembered Niall, coming to stand beside him on the roof. Niall opening the bathroom door and gently taking the pills from his hands. Niall's white and teary face as he dragged Louis up from his own vomit, calling an ambulance. Tears of gratitude and shame pricked Louis' eyes.

„No. Yes. Maybe.“

Darkness darkness darkness, swallowing him, eating him whole, more and more and more.

„I don’t hate living. I just suck at it.“

-

Harry’s heart ached at hearing Louis’ words.

At the mere possibility of a world without him in it.

Another tear slid down Harry’s face.

Louis put his arms around him again, holding him close. „I got you, it’s okay.“

Slowly, the world was put back together.

Harry rested his cheek against Louis’ warm chest and listened to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat as he waited for the dizziness and trembling to subside. He loved the weight of Louis’ chin atop his head and the smell clinging to his neck. He knew he should sit up, but he didn’t want to.

Tears still streamed down his face, an inexhaustible source.

 _You can stop your sniffling, Harry. Men don’t cry_. That was what his father had always said. Well, Harry was a man, and he had a lot to cry about. Hell, crying was the biggest sign of masculinity.

„It’s going to be okay,“ Louis said again. „It’s all right, love.“ Harry’s throat tightened unbearably and he squeezed his hand in answer.

Louis’ eyes flickered to the broken shards on the floor. „Always knew those Bambi legs would someday come to haunt you.“

Harry laughed despite himself, despite what had happened, and wrapped his arms as tightly around Louis as possible. Louis just wordlessly stroked his back and held him right back.

They sat there for a long time, clinging to each other like a raft, holding on to each other for dear life - or maybe holding on to dear life.

-

Louis had no idea how much time they spent sitting on that bathroom floor, feeling the cold tiles under his feet and Harry’s warm skin on his own. He only knew that at some point, they started kissing, and he took Harry’s hand and gently pulled him to his feet. After assuring that the cuts on Harry’s feet weren’t too deep and properly bandaged, he gently tugged him in the direction of the bed where they fell atop the sheets and started kissing again. Such soft, patient kisses.

Harry’s breath was sharp and ragged against Louis’ ear, hands tugging desperately at his shirt, telling Louis to take it off. Louis obliged. As he dipped down again, he asked, „Are you sure you’re al-"

But Harry shut him up with a plundering kiss that made Lois forget language for a while. Forget about his name and his past and everything but him. Harry. Harry. Harry.

But he made himself pause again. Made himself pull back and rise to look at his face, his hands on Harry’s thighs and Harry’s hand gripping him, stroking him. „Tell me you’re okay.“

Harry bit his lip and looked at Louis through his lashes. „I am. When you’re here, I’m okay. You make everything alright, Lou. Just, please, make me forget it for a while. Make me forget everything.“

Louis leaned down, his eyes alight with puckish mischief, and whispered low and deep in his ear, „I will.“

Harry kissed his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. „Thank you, Lou. Thank you for making my world such a great place.“

Louis smiled, and then he made Harry forget that world for a while.

Afterward, they lay entwined, Louis falling asleep to Harry’s hot breath warming his shoulder. He felt himself slipping away to sleep. But somewhere deep in his stomach, he felt tangled nerves buzzing with energy.

His first proper performance after such a long time. Harry’s chance to show his father that he had what it took. That he could make it. Louis’ chance to redeem himself. He pushed the thought away and focused on Harry’s steady breath warming the air.

„Louis? Are you still awake?“

Louis was too tired to form words beyond a low „Mmm.“

Harry didn’t say anything for a few minutes after that, but Louis still felt him staring at the ceiling beside him. „Go to sleep, Harry,“ he mumbled into his pillow.

„How do you know I’m not asleep?“

„You radiate awake-energy, and it’s hindering my ability to fully give myself over to the sweet release of dreams.“

„Ah.“

„Go to sleep,“ Louis said again, feeling himself drift a little further away from consciousness.

„I’m thinking about what we’re going to tell our children about how we met one day. I don’t want to tell them that we hated each other at first. That’s not very romantic, is it?“

If he hadn’t been so tired, Louis would have laughed. Loud. But he couldn’t bring himself to anything more than a low chuckle.

„To know you is to love you, Harry.“

He felt Harry turning his head to him in the dark. „You think so?“

„Yes,“ Louis sighed, and even though his voice was soft, he meant it with every inch of his soul.

His eyes were closed, but somehow, he still knew that Harry was smiling. He felt in in the air; on his skin. His own lips twitched as well. „Now go to sleep, you fucking moron.“

The last thing Louis felt before he fell asleep was the light touch of Harry’s fingertips against his cheek, then replaced by the lush softness of lips. „Good night, Lou.“

-

Louis’ face was hot and his head buzzed. The sound coming from the audience was loud and beat at his eardrums. There was electricity in his veins and a sheet of nervous sweat on his forehead. Next to him, Harry was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, chewing frantically on his bottom lip.

„I think I’m going to be sick,“ Zayn whispered behind them.

„Just please don’t do it in my direction,“ said Niall, taking a step away from Zayn who really did look a little green around the nose.

„It’s not even that many people,“ Liam said with a forced calm which the look on his face betrayed as utter fraud. „Look, there are lots of empty seats.“

„But the last time we knew most of the audience at least. These are people we’ve never met before who expect to see a good goddamn show,“ Niall gave back.

Louis saw Harry chewing more frantically on his lip. „Just breathe. They’ll love it,“ he said with a sanguinity he wasn't feeling. At the back of the room, he saw Ben Winston sitting with his wife and he felt like he might fall straight over any moment.

James approached their group, his face as pale and sweaty as Louis suspected his to be. He put his arms around Liam’s and Niall’s shoulders. „Showtime, boys. Break a leg.“

The audience had gone silent, single specks of coughs and whispers the only sound in the dim light.

„Okay, I’m definitely going to throw up,“ Zayn muttered under his breath. Liam gave his cheek a little kiss, then pulled him off to the stage.

Louis watched as his friends took their positions, and the play began. Harry had gone still, still not saying a word. He was frowning, one ear turning slightly pink as he strangled it in a loop of hair. Louis followed his eyes to the audience where he just made out a familiar body. Desmond Styles.

His own nervousness faded into the background as Louis slipped his arms through Harry’s, anchoring him. No one could see him gently easing the tension from Harry’s fist. No one could see Louis’ fingers threading through Harry’s, holding him close. „We’ll be fine,“ he whispered. „We’ll be okay. They’re going to love you. I already do. And so does your dad.“

Finally, Harry looked at him, green eyes big and scared. It ripped Louis’ heart into pieces, that look. Those eyes. „Let’s do this.“

Harry nodded, first slowly, then faster. „Let’s do this.“

Louis took a step forward, hearing his cue, but Harry pulled him back for one moment. „I love you, Louis.“ He pressed a soft kiss to Louis' lips, cupping his face in his long fingers, then hurried on stage, golden and twinkling like the star he was.

Louis stayed back, feeling too full, and absolutely barren, both at the same time. Something cold crept into his veins. He took a deep breath and shoved that clamminess away from his consciousness, then followed Harry onto stage.

The next two hours passed in a rush of flying, loud heartbeats, fairies, and… genuine fun. And the entire way through, Louis had to fight to keep his eyes off Harry who bewitched not only him, but the entire room who were all hanging on his every word.

Louis had never felt so proud in his life. This was his - this play, these people, this life. Applause erupted from the audience as James hurried on stage and everyone took a sweeping bow.

Louis’ eyes met Ben’s and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his old friend clapping for him like in old times. Better times? He didn’t know. But he was starting to let go of the comparison.

For a moment, Louis closed his eyes and let the moment carry him away. When he opened them again, he almost expected to see his mum in the first row, grinning, just for him, her lips forming the words 'That’s my boy‘.

But instead, he saw Liam veering for him, his eyes bright. He was on Louis in a second, hoisting him off the ground and twirling him around until Louis thought he might be sick. Louis beat at his chest, cursing at him but laughing at the same time. Liam set him down and hurried the other way to Zayn whose skin had changed from green to bright pink.

Louis weaved his way through the crowd until he found Harry who was receiving hugs all around from his great-aunt and her friends. When he saw Louis, he gently drew back from all the arms seeking to give him another hug and walked toward him. Neither of them said anything, but Harry was grinning brightly, his hair in a disarray and his cheeks flushed. Louis loved him so much his chest dared to cave in.

Harry’s grin expanded even further. „We did it.“

„We did it,“ Louis agreed with a solemn nod.

„We did it!“ Harry cheered.

„We did it!“ Louis pushed his fists into the air. „We fucking did it!“

Harry’s eyes suddenly turned gentle, flickering with pride and adoration. „We did it,“ he said softly. He repeated the words again, but Louis was already there to catch them coming from his lips, locking this warm and precious boy in a fierce embrace.

_I love you so much, Harry Edward Styles. If you only knew how much I love you. How much you terrify me. How much all this terrifies me._

They were swept off stage by their friends, everyone still in a reverent state of happiness. Louis lost sight of Harry in the frenzy. His eyes roamed the room in search of him, but they caught on something else. Someone else. Another Styles.

Desmond saw Louis looking at him. To his surprise, Louis saw him beckoning him over. Hesitantly, Louis walked toward where he stood in a dark corner of the room.

Thoughts of a pale and shaking Harry sitting on the bathroom floor came over him. Images of him as a little boy, sitting in his father’s pooling blood.

A strange sensation squeezed his heart, a mix of pity and rage.

He came to a halt in front of the steely man. Silence. Louis took a deep breath. „What did you think of the play?“

Desmond opened his mouth, then closed it again. „I don’t know a lot about theatre and acting and all that. Harry’s mother has always been keen on it. But… I thought he was very good. Magnetic. So were you, by the way. Not at all as unprofessional as one would expect.“

Louis’ jaw tensed as he tried not to take offense at that little jab.

„I am very proud of him, you know? I really am. He’s my boy. I may have not always been a perfect father, but I always loved him. He’s my son.“

„Shouldn’t you be telling him that and not me?“ Louis asked. „I think he needs to hear it.“

For the first time, Louis saw a real crack in Desmond Styles’ face. The real person. He was as good at building a facade as his son. Louis felt a prickle of pained sympathy.

Desmond looked down at the ground. Another thing his son had inherited. It only lasted a moment, then he straightened again, looking up. „I only wanted what’s best for my son. I know what it’s like to have nothing, and I wanted to spare him from that. But I’ll try. I’ll try to understand-" He gestured vaguely around the room. „All this.“

There was still anger inside Louis about what this man had put his son through, anger about the lack of confidence and anger about his cowardice, but now it was mixed with something else. Not quite forgiveness, but maybe something on the way there.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand. „Thank you for coming. And thank you for trying.“

Desmond took it, meeting Louis’ eyes. „Thank you for looking out for him.“

He gave Louis a little smile, and Louis nodded, then stepped away. Maybe not forgiveness between them, but mutual respect.

„I think I should go talk to my son now,“ Desmond said and Louis watched across the room as he made his way to Harry who looked anxious and also hopeful at the sight of his father’s face. Desmond said something Louis couldn’t hear and he watched as Harry gingerly put his long arms around his father’s torso, awkwardly at first, then tighter. Over his father’s shoulder, Harry found Louis’ gaze and smiled. Louis felt it somewhere deep inside his chest.

He turned around, strode to the stuffed room’s exit and walked along a narrow corridor until he found the back entrance. Cool city air wafted toward him as he opened the door and sat down on the stone steps.

A few cars drove past, their headlights cutting through the night. They sky had turned fully dark now, the stars erased from view by the light pollution of the bright London streets.

A small group of students was lumbering beside the steps, smoking and listening to low music. „Hey mate, could I get one of those?“ Louis asked, pointing at the cigarettes.

„Sure.“ One of the boys lit a cigarette and handed it to Louis. „Rough night?“

Louis blinked. „No, actually one of the best ones of my life.“

The boy’s eyebrows rose and he huffed a laugh. „That’s not what you look like, mate.“

Louis took a deep drag and exhaled smoke into the crisp London air. „I know.“ He brought a fist to his forehead. „What’s your name?“

The boy leaned against the stair railing, arms crossed. „Jack. Yours?“

Louis ignored the question. „Do you ever feel like you’re not worthy of all the good things that happen to you? Like you don’t have any right to all this happiness?“

The boy - Jack - blew out a breath. „No, not really... But that sounds heavy, man. I’m sure you’re not that bad. Everyone deserves happiness. Well, maybe not everyone… I guess mass-murderers or child molesters don’t. But you’re not any of those things, are you?“

Louis shook his head. „No. But I’m me.“

Jack shrugged. „It can’t be that bad. Anyways, I got to get back,“ he said, pointing over his shoulder to his group of friends. „Have a good night. Or not good, whatever you want.“

Louis forced a smile. „Cheers, mate.“ His shoulders sagged. He took another drag from that disgusting cigarette when the door behind him suddenly opened and Niall hopped down the stairs.

„Hi, mate, here you are! Get your ass up, it’s time to get going!“ Louis ground out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe, then let himself be dragged up by Niall who was wearing a large grin on his face. „It’s time to partay, my friend!“

Despite himself, Louis laughed and followed Niall back inside the building.

-

The club was filled with gyrating and writhing bodies, the drum of the music filling Louis’ ears. Somewhere in the crowd, his friends were dancing along, Niall probably laughing about something. Liam and Zayn probably displaying some form of affection.

 The track - electric, fast, and so very loud - shifted in one smooth measure. The sound of electric guitars, violins, and a deep, reverberating beat filled the space. The DJ raised one arm up high as the music’s tempo increased to a fever pitch until Louis could hardly bear it. Then he brought a punishing bass down upon their heads. The room trembled, and the crowd burst into a mess of jumping limbs.

Louis watched them from the bar, fingers fumbling for the large headphones hidden in the pockets of his jacket, then his phone. Slowly, he dove back into the waves of dancing bodies on the dance floor, colorful lights splitting the darkness above his head.

Something tugged deep within him as he saw Harry standing amid the crowd. His composure marked him out from the others at once, who danced wildly with their heads thrown back. His back was straight, his neck white. His hair, upswept into a bun, was the color of dark chocolate, flashes coloring it green or blue with the beat of the music. He was simply standing on one spot, listening to the music, thinking about something only he would understand.

He was turned away from him, so Louis wended his way through the crowd, ignoring the coy murmurs and lustful glances thrown at him as he went. He reached Harry whose back was still turned to him, then raised the headphones and slowly - gently - slid them over Harry’s ears. He knew what song was playing, even though he couldn’t hear it.

Harry turned around to him, lips forming a surprised O. His face was heart-shaped and delicate and flushed with the extension of the room’s heat and music. He hadn’t said anything to Louis after the talk with his father, but his steps had been lighter, his eyes brighter. The entire night, every single one of his little secret smiles had warmed Louis’ heart.

The world was a riot of action and color and sound, but Louis remained still, hearing the earphones music in his head.

_Met you by surprise, I didn’t realize, that my life would change forever._

He remembered when he had come home to his flat and had found Harry watching that French film on the couch, Niall and Zayn performing acrobatic exercises beside him. The scene of a boy sneaking up on a girl at a party and sliding headphones over her ears. Harry’s reverent sigh. And Louis wanted nothing more than to see Harry happy, no matter how much of a sap he had to become for that happiness. If he was being honest, he kind of liked all the sappiness, anyway.

_Dreams are my reality, the only kind of real fantasy._

A smile clung to Harry’s rosy lips. Louis reached up to loop his arms around his neck. When he locked his fingers, they tangled in the soft, feathery hair at his nape. He stroked downward with one finger, reflexively, and felt at the same time the top bump on his spine.

Harry’s eyes closed and his forehead came to rest beside Louis’, his arms locking him in a loose embrace as they started swaying on the wild dance floor. The loud music around them was drowned out by the sound of Louis’ heartbeat; Harry’s breath on his neck.

Lights lit up Harry’s hair, turning it into a blue halo. Louis’ arms slung tighter around Harry’s neck, chin coming to rest on his shoulder. The faint music coming from Harry’s headphones vaguely droned into Louis’ ear pressed against it.

„I love you,“ he whispered quietly, knowing that Harry couldn’t hear it. The room around them was gone. Nothing existed but Harry’s hands and Harry’s hair and Harry’s lips and Harry’s nose pressed against the side of Louis’ head. Only Harry remained. And that pressure building in Louis’ chest.

He lost his battle with the tears. He felt one sliding down his face, then a second.

Tears for something he would come to lose. Tears for all the loss he had endured already and tears for all the loss he was yet to endure. Tears for himself, and tears for the sweet dancing boy in his arms. 

Harry couldn't see them, and Louis made no move to wipe them away.

After what could have been three minutes or three hours, Harry peeled back and looked at Louis whose tears had dried. He slid off the headphones, wincing at the sudden burst of loud club music. ' _Thank you,'_  he mouthed.

Louis smiled at him, then let go if his neck and took a step back. „Want to get out of here?“ He wasn’t sure Harry had heard it over the loud music, but he nodded nonetheless. Louis took his hand and gently navigated them through the crowd. Not toward the exit, but somewhere else.

They passed the bar, where Niall stood with Greg and Adam, hearing some beer-marinated banter in passing.

„Where are we going?“ Harry laughed, stumbling after Louis. Louis winked at him conspiratorially, then pushed open the door to the stairway and led him up the stairs. Finally, they emerged where Louis had wanted them to.

The night had turned cool, damp wind brushing their skin. Harry stepped forward, lips parted in awe. They stood on the building’s roof, the streets of London stretching far below them.

Louis took a step to the railing and rested his elbows on it. The building wasn’t particularly high, but it was enough to see the glimmering black Thames in the far distance.

Harry stood by his side, and together, they stared out at the twinkling city. „It’s beautiful,“ Harry whispered, but Louis felt his gaze on his own skin, the city a mere afterthought.

He didn’t - couldn’t - face Harry, so he rested his chin on his forearms and stared at the river. „Sweet Thames run softly till I end my song.“

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry looking up and giving him one of his sudden, life-enhancing grins. „Spenser.“

Louis’ lips twitched. „Spenser.“

A door opened somewhere inside the building and the sounds of the party drifted up from below: a man’s braying laughter; the high, fast tempo of the music. The door closed again, leaving only the ever-present hum of the sleepless city.

There was a slight pause. „I want you to meet my family tomorrow,“ Harry said, voice hopeful. „Like, properly meet them. My mum, my sister, and Robin. I think they would like to meet you.“

Louis turned his head to him. „Are you sure?“

Harry nodded. „Of course I’m sure. I can understand if this is all going too fast for you, but… You’re part of my life now. You’re one of the most important people in it, so I want you to meet the rest of them."

Louis swallowed and mustered up a smile, something tight lodged in his throat. „Of course. I would love to.“

Harry leaned down toward him and cupped his face, smiling, then pressed his lips against Louis’. Louis straightened and let himself be pulled to Harry’s chest, the kiss deepening. Guilt and pain curled in his chest, so incessant it became impossible to ignore or push it away.

He felt flattened out, exhausted. Sometimes he was the life of the party, but other times he was lonely, bleak, and sick with disgust at himself, and certain that the people who said they loved him were only pretending because they were scared of breaking him. Because he was weak. He wanted to tell Harry that he was better off without him. That he should run as long as he still could. But he kept silent, too weak to utter the words. Too selfish.

Harry let go of him, oblivious to the war raging within Louis, and looked back over the rooftops, his hand still linked with Louis’.

Louis slung an arm around Harry's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, melting in his warmth. „I always used to go on the roof when I felt sad. Or happy. Mostly happy. I loved it here,“ he said quietly. „You feel so insignificant when seeing all those houses - all those other lives - it makes your problems seem so small. It feels safe.“

Harry hummed in agreement, lips curved in a smile.

Louis remembered standing on the hospital’s roof, staring down at the darkness below.

As one, they both lifted their eyes to the night sky. Smoke and steam from unknown sources, along with fog from the river blew past in great billowing hiccups. Vague impressions of stars hid behind London’s perpetual neon haze, seeming close enough to touch, but actually so very far away and out of reach.

Much like the boy beside Louis. Much like Louis himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry again for taking so long to write this (technical difficulties...)
> 
> Hope you can still sort of remember what happened in the last chapter and enjoyed this one :D 
> 
> (Sorry Louis is so complicated, but sadly, the quote in the chapter summary is very much true...) 
> 
> P.S: The song Harry and Louis are dancing to in the club is 'Reality' by Richard Sanderson from the film 'La Boum'. ;)


	20. To Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is a hero... (?) At least in his own special way. He's also a liar.

 

_Song(s):_

_"Someone you Loved" - Lewis Capaldi_

 

„Are you sure you want to do this?“

Zayn gazed up at Louis, his dark eyes joyful and determined. „Of course we’re sure.“ He took Liam’s hand and together, they nodded at the tattoo artist seated across from them. The man set to work, placing a needle on the bed of Zayn’s arm.

Louis watched as the needle travelled over his friend’s skin, leaving a trail of dark ink. Niall let out a small groan and turned around. „I don’t like needles,“ he muttered an explanation to Harry whose eyebrows had flicked up. „Don’t like them at all.“

Harry nodded understandingly, then flicked through one of the books lying on a table nearby. Louis joined him and pointed at a drawing of a hedgehog. „Didn’t you say I reminded you of a hedgehog? Maybe I should get that one on my forehead. Or my bum.“

Harry laughed, then pointed out a huge scaly dragon with red eyes. „Then I’ll take that one, right across my chest.“

Louis jerked his chin at a vine of roses. „Or maybe that one. Make it tangle around your-"

Harry elbowed him in the side with a snort. „You’re disgusting.“

Louis’ eyes quickly fell on a dagger, circled in a rose. It reminded him of himself, that tattoo - him, the dagger; Harry the rose.

„Look at that,“ Harry said, still laughing. Louis looked at his fingertip, finding a small crescent there, a sun beside it. He saw Harry smile. „I’d like that. It’s us.“

Louis stared at the dimple in Harry’s cheek, the curly stand of brown hair brushing it. „Yes,“ Louis breathed, something sharp pricking his heart.

„Come look, guys,“ Liam yelled from the other side of the room, pointing at his and Zayn’s forearms. „It’s done!“

Harry gave Louis another quick smile, then hurried to look at the tattoos. Louis lingered for another second, though, eyes caught on the moon and sun under the plastic sheen of the paper, then quickly closed the book and joined the others.

After making sure no more needles were in close proximity to any skin, Niall turned around and peered over Louis’ shoulder at Liam and Zayn’s outstretched arms. Louis almost had to laugh at the small cartoons on their skin.

It was absolutely Liam and Zayn. It was absolutely Zayn and Liam. It was absolutely perfect.

They had spent their day being normal tourists in London, shopping, sight-seeing, and eating over-prized food in small cafes. Zayn had spent their entire time in the London Eye sketching wildly into his notebook, looking up from time to time to give Liam a little grin. And the product of Zayn’s creativity in the clouds over the city was now on display before Louis for the first time, still shining faintly in the light.

Niall laughed one of his joyous laughs. „I should have known what it was.“

They really should have. It was superheroes, of course. Batman and Deadpool. Liam’s favorite and Zayn’s favorite. A tiny sketch of them kissing. It was so tacky and so genius, Louis couldn’t help but grin. „It’s amazing, lads.“

But Zayn and Liam probably didn’t even listen, as they had gone from smiling at each other to kissing each other, thereby unknowingly (or knowingly) recreating the scene inked into their arms.

-

The tattoo parlor now felt a thousand kilometers away and was only a faint memory in the back of Louis’ mind. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and looked at the people seated across from him in the fancy hotel restaurant.

As if she was sensing his distress, Harry’s mother smiled at him encouragingly. „Quite horrible here, isn’t it?“ She waved a hand at the people in suits around them, sitting at fine white tables, drinking wine and eating shrimp appetizers. A lot of them only eating the appetizers. Anne draped a napkin over her lap. „But I guess it’ll have to do.“

Under the table, Harry reached for his hand and squeezed it. His step-father Robin took up his glass of wine and took a sip. „So, Harry has told us quite a lot about you, Louis.“

„Only bad things, I hope,“ Louis joked, managing a smile he hoped would reach his eyes.

„The worst,“ Gemma nodded and took a bite from her fork, then winked at Louis.

„Well, they’re all true.“

In retrospect, Louis was quite happy he’d never had to meet any of his boyfriends’s families before. A dreadful affair. Not that Harry’s family were dreadful; they were lovely people -of course they were- but the whole concept of sitting down with your significant other’s originator and having to try and impress them for a period of time until they were sufficiently content and could say ' _Yes, I guess I will allow my offspring to spend the rest of their existence with this other human-being_ ‘ - that was dreadful.

Without his consent, his mind conjured up an image of his mum meeting Harry. She would have adored him. Loved him like her own son. Louis forced down a bite of his Vegan Charcuterie - whatever that was; he had simply ordered what Harry and his sister had chosen - trying to mask the quiver in his lips at the thought.

 _Get it together, Tomlinson_.

If his mother were here, everything would be different. Everything. Maybe he wouldn’t feel guilty for the slender, soft hand in his own. For the smile Harry threw his way. Maybe he wouldn’t even know Harry…

„I can’t wait to see the play again tomorrow,“ Anne said. „I really enjoyed it the fist time I saw it, I’m just sorry we couldn’t make it yesterday. Work, you know how it is…“

Louis nodded as if he did know how it was, even though he had next to no experience at not making it to a child’s theatre play due to too much work. Anne took a sip from her glass. „Will your family come tomorrow, too? I’d love to meet them.“

Reflexively, Louis glanced at Harry who took a sharp breath. He hadn’t told them? Harry caught Louis look, his eyes saying _I’m so sorry_. Louis squeezed his hand, saying _No problem_. He looked at Anne again, giving her a small smile. „No, I don’t think they’ll come. My mum died a few years back, and my family and I haven't really been in touch since then.“

Anne went pale, setting down her cutlery. „Oh, Louis, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…“

„No problem, really,“ Louis assured her, and took another encouraging bite from his vegan whatever-it-was. Harry stared down at his lap, clearly still feeling guilty or embarrassed. Louis gave his hand another squeeze and rubbed a thumb over the back.

There were another few moments of gloomy silence. „This … thing tastes rather nice, actually,“ Louis said, pointing down at his plate. „Not as bad as I had expected. To be honest, I’ve lived off pizza and cereal for the last years of my life, so I guess I’m not an expert, but I don’t actually mind this food.“

Louis did not like the food.

„Yes, it’s the only good thing in this place, quite frankly,“ Gemma jumped in, waving a fork around the room. „At least one thing my idiot of a father got right: the chefs.“

„You should come visit us in Holmes Chapel sometime, darling,“ Anne said to him. „That’d be lovely.“

„Maybe even take Harry with you,“ Robin joked.

Louis allowed himself to breathe again. After another few minutes, he excused himself to the toilet.

He made his way through the labyrinth of tables. This was all wrong. It was lovely. Way too lovely. Someone else should sit at that fancy table, eating that expensive food, chatting to that kind family. Someone who deserved it more than he did. Someone good.

Inside the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the clean mirror above the tap. Brown fringe, light freckles, blue eyes. Not the person who should stand here. Intruder.

The door behind him opened, and he quickly held his hands under the tap so as to not be seen strangely staring at himself in the mirror. He looked up to see who had entered - and blinked.

„Yes, I know this is the man’s toilet,“ Gemma said and leaned her back against the edge of the sink, her hands resting on the edge.

A man came from one of the stalls and threw her a dirty look which she ignored. Gemma waited until he had left the room with another disdainful glance in her direction before she spoke. „Look, I like you, Louis. You seem like a nice guy. But this is my job as Harry’s older sister, so I’ll just get it over with, alright? Just in case.“ She looked Louis in the eyes. „So: If you break my baby brother’s heart, I will kill you. I’ve seen him hurt enough times to last a lifetime and I know you went through your fair amount of shit as well, but in this case, I don’t care.“

Louis swallowed. Gemma’s dark blond hair shimmered under the fluorescent toilet lights. Just another shiny part of a shiny world Louis didn’t belong in. Intruder.

„Or if you’re not serious with him, then get it over with and tell him now. Because I can’t watch him fall even deeper and more madly in love with you than he already appears to be, just to have you dump him when it’s already too late. I know how badly that shit hurts, and I can’t ever watch my brother go through something like that. I protect him, that’s what I do. So please, Louis, either you truly love him and somehow deal with everything you’ve clearly still got going on; or you break up with him and spare all of us the heartbreak. Because the longer you stay, the harder it will be to say good-bye.“

Her green eyes - the same color as Harry’s - were firm, yet kind. „I truly am sorry, Louis. But you’ve got sisters, haven’t you?“

Louis managed a nod. Gemma smiled - a tight smile that brought out dimples in her cheeks for just a second. „Then you know.“

Then she left, leaving Louis empty and agitated at the sink.

The door closed behind her and Louis burrowed his face in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked up, it was sticking up in different directions. He quickly smoothed it down, then left the bathroom.

He remained standing before the door, though, watching as Gemma returned to their table at the far end of the room, saying something to her brother to make him laugh. Watched that happy, glowing family and his empty seat at their table. He stood at the edge of this for a moment: on the fringe of their happy family chatter. He didn’t belong in that seat; at that table; with that family. DIdn’t belong. Didn’t belong. Didn’t belong.

Gemma’s words echoed in his head and he felt a deep sadness seize him. This wasn’t him. This life he had somehow conquered with means still unbeknownst to him - this life that didn’t belong to him. He had been like that once, carefree and comfortable in his own skin, knowing exactly where he belonged. But now he was the aching boy who got drunk and talked too much and danced on tables and made stupid decisions. He had a bad temper and a sharp tongue, and he always blurted out things he instantly regretted.

It was what he deserved. That was him. End of story.

Before he could be seen, Louis quickly maneuvered his way outside to a stone terrace leading to a small gravelly garden. He asked a waiter for a cigarette and watched the glimmering red end of it in the dark as he smoked.

He didn’t know how long he spent there, leaning against the stone railing, watching the people eating at the tables beneath him, yet not actually seeing them at the same time.

„We were wondering where you might be,“ a voice behind him said and he turned around to see Anne stand there, smiling at him.

„Yeah, sorry,“ he said, quickly stubbing out his cigarette on the stone.

„Oh, it’s alright,“ Anne said, waving a hand at the cigarette end and stepping up beside him. „No need to stop because of me.“ But Louis only folded his hands on the railing and looked at her. „Can I ask you something?“ she said, her smile fading a little.

„Sure,“ Louis replied, trying to sound more casual than he was feeling. „How did your mum die?“

Oh. That caught Louis off-guard. Maybe he should have guessed. People always wanted to know how his mother had died. Maybe because it made them feel safer, lucky because such a thing couldn’t happen to them, or maybe out of sheer curiosity. When he answered their question, they never seemed content with it. Because cancer was something that no one was safe from; that no one had the power to outrun without luck on their side.

But with Anne, it somehow didn’t seem that way, as if she really was only asking because she cared…

„Leukemia,“ Louis replied and watched as Anne nodded in understanding.

She didn’t have to say she was sorry, because Louis knew. Instead, she asked, „What was her name?“

„Johanna. Jo,“ Louis said with a quiet smile.

„That’s a nice name,“ Anne said, returning his quiet smile.

„She was a nice mum.“

Anne hummed a small laugh. „And she did a great job raising a very nice boy.“

Louis felt like he might start crying. Of joy. Of fear. Of everything. The utter terror of the sheer existence of such kindness and understanding.

„I didn’t know your mum, and I don’t know you very well either yet, Louis, but I’m sure she’s very very proud of you.“

_Yet._

That simple word painfully squeezed Louis’ insides together. He was glad that it was already dark and hoped the light coming from inside wasn’t enough for her to see the silver lining his eyes. It probably was.

„Can I hug you?“ was all she asked as she slightly opened her arms. Louis felt something within him crumble. Frozen, he let her put her warm arms around him. He felt his chin quiver and slowly hugged her back. It felt warm, and safe, her perfume filling Louis’ stuffed nose.

„Thank you,“ he mumbled into her shoulder, not even caring anymore if she could hear the tears in it or not.

„She’s proud of you,“ Anne said again.

Louis didn’t know how she knew the exact things and exact words he needed to hear right at that moment - had needed to hear and feel for three years - but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finally - just for one small moment, however short it may be - feeling fully safe again. Of course being with Harry felt safe, laughing and existing with Niall, Liam, and Zayn, but that was different. This was handing over the burden that was his brain for just one second, letting it vanish in someone’s else's arms.

When Anne let go of him again, he saw her wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. „Sorry,“ she said again, her voice full.

Louis wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to apologize for anything, that he only wanted to thank her over and over again for all this kindness, for her words, her embrace, her beautiful life-draft of a son, her complete acceptance of him - but he didn’t say anything.

He held quiet, feeling all the same old feelings creep back into his veins, but this time one feeling in particular: guilt. He felt so guilty for all this kindness she showed him and for everything she would get in return. „No, I’m sorry,“ he said. „Could you - Could you tell Harry and the others that I’ve already gone up to our room? I’m really tired and I should get some sleep before tomorrow.“

The lie didn’t even feel heavy in his stomach. What was one more thing piled atop all those other ones?

„Oh yes, of course, darling,“ Anne said. „Get some rest. I’ll tell Harry.“

He smiled at her again and turned to leave, but she called behind him, „Louis?“

He turned around. „Yes?“

She smiled at him, dimples and all, and said, „It was lovely meeting you. Thank you for making my son so happy.“

Louis craved for another embrace, but settled on a tight-lipped smile. „Thank you for letting me try.“

He turned around again, the guilt weighing him down so much it was difficult to walk. For the feeling he had carried around with him ever since that first rainy night with Harry was no longer merely anxiety; it was a heavy dread of the inevitable. One final thing to do for Harry’s happiness. His true happiness. And Louis’ defeat.

He tried not to think of Gemma’s kind eyes, Anne’s warm embrace, and Robin’s loud laugh because all that would only make it harder.

The inevitable.

-

When Harry came back to their room later that night, Louis was already lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. Pretending because he couldn’t look Harry in the eye. Because looking him in the eye would mean getting weak and not going through with it.

But every time Harry’s foot brushed his under the covers and he felt his warmth seeping through Louis’ clothes and skin right into his blood; every time he felt himself getting weak - he recalled the sight of Harry with his family, golden under the lights, laughing, being happy, the vacant spot beside him that only Louis knew was vacant because everyone else passing would only see one perfect family Louis Tomlinson didn’t belong in; didn’t deserve.

He remembered what Harry had said to him in that dark apartment, rain pattering on the windows. ' _You’re the strongest person I know, Lou. And I’m sorry that you ever had to believe you weren’t.'_

_Well, now I’m going to be strong for you, Harry. I’ll be strong so you can be happy._

_-_

The lightbulb in the dressing room was broken, flickering on and off every second or so.

With a sigh, Louis looked at the dangling light on the ceiling, then switched it out completely, leaving the room in darkness, the light coming from the crack under the door the only illumination.

Outside, he heard chatter and calls from the other actors; James talking to Ernie about some last-minute lighting things and Mrs. Proctor looking for her eyepatch. The excitement in the air tonight was also mingled with a kind of sadness; their last performance of the play. For many of them their last performance period.

In the gloom, he looked down at the costume laid out before him; the green shirt, black trousers. The suspenders. He ran a finger over them, remembering Harry’s laugh when he’d seen Louis in them for the first time. The way he had held them up triumphantly in the thrift store, once upon a time.

This would be his last time wearing the costume. Being Peter.

He sat down and lit a cigarette, still keeping his eyes fixed on the outfit but making no move to put it on. There was a knock on the door, but the person behind it didn’t wait for a response before he opened the door, letting light fall into the room.

Ben was standing in the frame. „Jesus, why is it so dark in here?“

„Lightbulb’s broken,“ Louis mumbled, tapping ash into the cigarette tray.

Ben tried the switch and the bulb lit, this time without incessant flickering. „Doesn’t seem to be.“

„A lot of things don’t seem to be.“

Without waiting for an invitation, Ben sat down in a chair opposite Louis. „But you’ve always been better at things than me. Handling things.“ Louis glanced at the ceiling. „Why should this lightbulb be any different?“

Ben’s eyebrows rose. „Yes, well… forget about that stupid lightbulb. But you did just mention something important: I’m good at handling things. And you’re good at acting. That’s why we were such a great team: you acted, and I handled things. Louis, what happened to us - what happened to you - was unfortunate, especially because it was in our prime, but nothing can’t be undone. From what I’ve seen, you’re still as good as ever. And I am, too. Come back, Louis. Come back to your life before all that. You and I, ruling the streets of London together. We can pick up where we left off, pretend it never happened.“

Louis looked up. „I can’t go back, Ben. And I also can’t pretend it never happened, because it did. I can’t go back to my life before _that_ , because it’s gone. She was my life, Ben, my mother was my life, my _family_ was my life. My world. And you’re nothing without your world.“

Ben sighed. „Alright fine, then don’t go back to that life. Just go back to the part of it where we worked together as the most successful director-actor combination of the century. Go back to _that_ , Louis, and make _that_ your world. It was, back then. I know it was. You loved it, I saw it in your face every single night. That pure ecstasy of being a performer. You wither without your precious spotlight, Louis. What do you want to do after tonight, huh? Perform a bad play once every year for your little small town community? That’s not enough for people like us, Louis. It isn’t. And I can’t buy your little acting troop two nights in a London theatre forever. I don’t have any interest in it without the chance of you coming back. You’re my best, Louis. No one gets me and my plays like you do.“

He sighed again heavily. „Can’t you at least try to forget? Other people do it, you know?“

„But I can’t,“ Louis snapped, feeling his eyes water. „I can’t forget and I can’t forgive, because I failed them, Ben. You know it. You watched it happen. Watched me play my stupid role every single night while my mother withered away in the hospital. Watched as I left my sisters alone in their grief and fear for some more of that precious stage light, as you called it. Because I thought I would wither without it.“ There was venom in his voice now, pure poison to match the blood flowing through his body. „Turns out, the only thing I withered without was my family.“

He leaned back in his seat, feeling his hands shake slightly, and took an unsteady drag from the forgotten cigarette still between his fingers. „So no, I can’t go back to being your golden stage boy. Not with the knowledge of what it cost me the last time.“

Ben slumped, just slightly. Ran a hand over his face. „You're a nutjob, Louis. Have you always been this complicated?“ He held up a hand. „Don’t answer that.“ He reached into a bag at his feet and produced a heavy script, the familiarity of it making Louis cringe. „Look, this is my newest project. I’m really proud of it and I would love to have you involved. There’s a part in here that would be perfect for you.“ More quietly, he added, almost to himself, „Not that there ever was a part that wasn’t.“

He gave the script a small, loving pat. „Just… give it a read. Think about it.“ He leaned closer to Louis, his eyes almost soft. „And I’m sorry, Louis, I am. About what happened to you, to your family. You were my friend, you know? It wasn’t great losing you as an actor, but what was bad was losing you as a friend. There are actors like sand on a beach, but there’s only one Louis Tomlinson and people deserve to see him again. And you deserve to see them again.“

Louis almost didn’t hear the words. For the last few days, he had been sinking deeper and deeper into those thought spirals, this muddy ground of a brain, and now, finally, he was threatening to drown in it.

„People can make new worlds.That's what's so special about them.“

Finally, Louis looked up, his vision clearing a bit. „I already have one. But I won’t let it be taken from me again.“ _This time, I won’t let myself fail it. I’ll be strong_.

He got up, looked down at his old friend. „You should offer that part to someone else. There are a lot of great actors here tonight who would deserve the chance more than I ever did. Ask one of them.“ He went to the door, hand already poised on the knob, when he turned around again, looking at a resigned Ben Winston slumped in his chair. Louis had never seen him so… sagging. Ben was always elegant. Handling.

„Harry Styles. He’s talented.“ He pointed at the pile of papers still lying on the table. „Give him a shot.“ His knees felt weak. As if they might give out under him any moment. „Please. Let him try.“

Ben didn’t say anything, so Louis turned the knob and left the room, seeing the light bulb flicker again out of the corner of his eye.

-

Harry left his dressing room, the golden blouse of his costume caressing his skin. He would miss it, wearing this outfit every day. Maybe he’d just take it home with him and then still wear it every day, for memory’s sake. And for the sake of the amazing blouse.

Niall walked down the narrow hallway toward him, grinning as usual. „You ready for our final performance?“

Harry shook his head. „Not in the slightest.“

Niall turned, eyes roaming over the people passing by them. „Have you seen Louis?“

Harry frowned. „Not in the last couple minutes, why?“

He watched as Niall shook the worry off his face and the smile return. „No reason, I just haven’t seen him in a while. I’m sure it’s nothing.“

Harry was about to say something else, brushing the slight worry off, when James approached them. „Has anyone seen Louis? I wanted to talk to him about something.“

Liam appeared over his shoulder, Zayn behind his. „What about Louis?“

„Nothing,“ Harry assured them. „I’m sure he’s alright.“ But despite his words, a slight dread started building in his chest.

„We’re meant to be on in twenty minutes,“ Greg who had overhead the conversation said from down the hallway.

„He’ll turn up by then,“ Harry said, masking the uncertainty in his voice. He hadn’t spoken to Louis a lot since the night before when Louis had suddenly vanished at dinner. When he’d returned to their hotel room, Louis had already been asleep. Harry had pushed aside the worry then and he pushed it aside now. „He’s alright,“ he said again.

„But this isn’t really about whether he’s alright and more about whether we’ll be alright when he doesn't show up on time,“ Eleanor, leaning against the doorframe next to Harry’s, said sharply, annoyance in her voice. „We sort of need him for this whole Peter Pan play, 'cause, y’know, he’s Peter Pan.“

„Aren’t we all overreacting a bit?“ Liam tried to appease the people in the hallway. „He still has some time left till the show starts. I’m sure he just popped out for a smoke. Trust me, we’ll all laugh about this in a few minutes.“

But Harry heard the uncertainty sneaking itself into Liam’s words, in the way Liam’s hands dropped to his sides and he looked at Zayn as if trying to find affirmation there. But Zayn looked as helpless and at a loss as the rest of them.

„I don’t want to be the person to say this,“ Eleanor muttered, looking around the group. „But this all seems a bit too damn familiar.“ She looked at the ground, as if she was ashamed of her words. „I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time he let down an entire crew before a play.“

Harry’s jaw tensed. „What are you trying to say, Eleanor?“ he growled.

Eleanor looked up. „Just that I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t show up. Or if he showed up drunk and in no state to perform. I mean, come on, we should have seen it coming.“

Clare crossed her arms. „She’s right. We shouldn’t have relied on him so much.“

Sarah whirled at her. „He wrote the entire play for us. He was the only one who could ever play Peter, so show a bit of respect.“

Harry was dizzy. „He’ll come,“ he assured quietly. „He’ll come.“

Niall threw him a concerned look. „Has Louis said anything to you today? Anything odd?“

Harry shook his head. „We didn’t speak much today. We were busy, and I - I… He’ll come.“

„Nick also isn’t here,“ Adam said. „I don’t see anyone making assumptions about him.“

James had gone completely white, nervous sweat on his forehead. „We’ll just get a back up. It’s fine. We’ll get a back up.“

„There is no back-up!“ Clare yelled out. „We don’t _have_ a back-up.“

In that moment, Nick stumbled around the corner, his hair in a disarray and the trousers of his costume half un-done. „I’m sorry I’m so late, guys. Really sorry. Did I miss anything?“

Everyone whirled around to him and Nick shrunk slightly. „Jeez, I’m sorry I’m so late, but we’re not on yet, at least.“ Since the night of Nick’s sort-of-semi-love-confession, Harry hadn’t spoken to him a lot, from time to time finding his eyes on him and Louis. He had felt guilty for it, but Nick didn’t seem to want to talk to him. Frankly, Harry could understand him. Jealously was a deadly, cold thing and rejection was no better. But so was losing a friend.

„Louis’ not here,“ Eleanor filled him in, flicking her shiny brown hair over a shoulder. „And we don’t think he’s gonna show up.“

„He’ll come,“ Harry breathed again, the only thing he could do to keep himself from going mad.

„He’s also not answering his phone,“ Liam said, staring down at his bright screen.

Nick glanced around at all the angry, disappointed and worried faces „Then standing around here and debating certainly won’t do anything, will it? Why aren’t we looking for him?“

Harry was so grateful for Nick’s ease and implicitness - for him not making a big deal out of all this - he wanted to cry. Nick glanced his way and smiled encouragingly at him.

„Because that’s not our job,“ said Clare. „Louis’ a grown man who finally needs to learn a bit of responsibility.“

„Okay fine, then don’t look for him,“ Nick waved her off. „I will. Harry, you coming with me?“

Harry nodded gratefully, following after Nick around the corner while the others set off in different directions. Nick turned around to him. „Do you have any idea where he might be?“ Harry shook his head. „Alright, no problem.“ Noting Harry’s worried face, he reached out and put a steadying hand on his arm. „Hey, we’ll find him, okay?“

Harry nodded again. Nick hesitated. „And listen… I’m sorry. About being such a dickhead after… you know, you and him. I shouldn’t have let it affect our friendship. I was just…“

„It’s alright,“ Harry interrupted him. „I’m sorry. I do love you, Nick, just not… just as…“

Nick nodded. „I get it. He’s the one.“

Harry found himself nodding again. „Yes, I think may be. He’s an absolute mess, but so am I, and out messes just kind of… fit, you know? Like really complicated puzzle pieces."

Nick smiled again. „Then let’s find this mess of a one now and drag him on that stage.“

They searched the building for a few minutes. „Why were you so late anyway?“ Harry asked.

„I…“ Nick smiled. A smile that set his eyes aglow. „I met someone. He’s in the audience tonight and we just got chatting and I couldn’t really bring myself to leave.“

Despite all the pressing issues, Harry grinned. „That’s great. I’m really happy for you.“

„Thanks. I’m a bit nervous about acting in front of him tonight, though.“

„Don’t be,“ Harry said. „I’m pretty sure he’ll love it.“

„I am pretty sexy with my eyepatch, aren’t I?“ Nick grinned.

„Another reason to find Louis as quickly as possible. We can’t let this show fall through and him never seeing you in your sexy eyepatch,“ Harry joked, even though the feeling in his stomach wasn’t in the mood for quips. He needed to find Louis. _Think, Harry, where could he be?_

Nick tried calling his phone again.

Where, where, where. Back at the hotel? Outside?

Harry froze.

 _It feels safe_.

„I know where he is,“ he said.

Nick looked up, suddenly solemn. „I think you should go there alone. Sort this out and then come back to we can show those people out there what we’re made of. I’ll talk to the others, see if we can delay the play for a few minutes.“

Harry nodded, then turned around and marched along a few corridors. He felt queasy. Somehow, he never wanted to find Louis for fear of what it might be that was waiting for him. Everything in him screamed to turn back and curl up in some dark corner and pretend this wasn’t happening and everything was fine. Because one thing had made itself abundantly clear: something wasn’t fine.

Maybe some small part of him had known it all along but the rest of him had chosen to stay oblivious. It was so much easier, after all.

He reached the door and pushed it open. Glanced up the few stairs and climbed them, up to the top. The roof. _Where everything feels so insignificant. All your problems so small_.

But the roof wasn’t very high and when Harry reached the top and looked over the houses, his problems and fears still loomed behind him as big and frightful as ever. Because there he was. Elbows resting on the iron railing, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke pouring out from between his lips. Shrouding him in that impenetrable wall Harry had thought to have climbed a long time ago. That was the thing with walls: There was never just one. And this boy, drowning in the smoke, was surrounded by more walls that one person could ever climb. But Harry would try. He would try every single day, if only everything would be fine. If only they could leave this rooftop unscathed and be the closest thing to okay they might get.

Harry exhaled. „What are you doing up here, Louis? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. The play is about to start.“

Louis didn’t look at him, only watched over the city. „Sorry about that.“

Harry took another step toward him. „It’s okay, I’ve asked the others to delay the start a bit. But we should go back down now…“ The words died on his tongue as Louis finally fully looked at him and Harry beheld the sadness in his eyes. The deeply etched grief.

Harry felt like a dandelion puff; delicate and fragile; so easy to scatter with a single breath. And he was scared Louis might be about to loose that breath.

But when Louis didn’t speak, Harry opened his mouth, feeling disappointment welling up inside him. „What are you doing, Louis? Those people in there rely on you; they trust you.“

Finally, Louis fully turned around, grinding the cigarette out on the floor. His voice rose. „Well, that’s what I do, Harry! I break people’s trust and I disappoint them. That’s me. _Tada_.“ He did ironic jazz hands in the air at the word, then dropped them to his sides again. „They should have known better. _You_ should have known better.“

„Stop it!“ Harry shouted. He was unused to shouting. A lifetime with his father had taught him to keep everything in. But now it tumbled out like the contents of an overstuffed closet. „Stop acting like this! Acting like you don’t care; like you aren’t part of anything. You’re part of this.“

Louis’ eyes softened for a moment and he took a step toward Harry. Hope flared in his chest, but it quickly faded at Louis’ words. „Harry, please listen to me. This play - these people - was amazing. It meant a lot to me.“ He paused, then took a deep breath and started again. There were tears in his eyes. „Loving you has been the greatest honour of my sad little life, Harry Styles. And I’m sorry for it. Truly, I am. You would have deserved so much better. But before this gets to a point of no return, I have to do this.“

Harry’s throat closed up. He tried to shut out the words, the sound. Didn’t want to hear the rest. Couldn’t hear the rest.

„I am severely fucked up, Harry.“

The words coming to his mind died on his tongue. _So am I. I’m as bad as you. Your mess and mine, they fit. Like really complicated puzzle pieces._

„And I’m starting to think not even time can fix me. I’m not fixable. And you deserve better than to spend the rest of your life trying.“

-

The words burned and thrashed in Louis’ throat and mouth. He was breaking inside.

„Everything I do I somehow manage to fuck up. Whatever I hold in my hands always breaks. I fuck everything up, everything I touch breaks. And I don’t want to break you, Harry. I can’t do that to you. I guess I’ve already done it once but there is no way I’m gonna do it again. I don’t want to fuck this up. You’re too good for that. I love you too much for that. So I’m letting you go.“

Whatever Louis had expected, this was so much worse. The anger in Harry’s eyes. The disappointment.

His voice was shaking when he replied - shaking yet defiant and clear. „ _Fuck you_ , Louis Tomlinson. _Fuck you_. Don’t you dare come into my life, make me love you and then leave again. Don’t you dare.“ Harry wiped his eyes quickly with the heel of his hand. He tucked away his hands under his armpits and turned away from Louis. Not able to look at him.

This wasn’t working. He had to end it decisively. Make Harry hate him. That was the only way to keep him from coming back into Louis’ jaggy, broken world and head towards the bright future waiting for him. The only way to keep him safe.

Because he, Louis, was dirty and scruffy and smoking while Harry - precious wild little Harry - was soft and sweet and innocent and glitter and everything Louis wasn’t. And he was everything Louis really wished he could have. Maybe in another version of reality. Maybe there, they’d met as teenagers and immediately fell in love and got married and everything was perfect. But not in this one. Wrong version of reality. In this one, Harry was Harry and Louis was Louis and they didn’t belong together. And knowing that hurt more than anything.

He drew on every bit of his acting skills. „It was never real to begin with.“

Harry turned around again, face pale, red spots appearing on his cheeks.

„It was a bet, you know? I made a bet with Liam and Niall that I could become friends with you. More than that. I bet them I would make you fall in love with me. Before we went to the thrift store. It was why I came with you in the first place. You know I hate losing.“ The lie was bitter on his tongue.

Harry took a step back as if Louis had hit him. His voice was a scratch. "You're lying. That's not true.You wouldn't... You would never... You're a good person."

"Wouldn't I? I'm hateful, Harry. I left my family alone while my mother was dying in a hospital bed, I slept with you and then broke your heart and then I made a bet that I could do it all again. Now tell me again that I'm a good person. Just say it."

_Please don't say it. Please do. Please do. Please say it. Please don't. Please please please._

No words came from Harry's mouth. None at all. 

"There you go. You can't."

The hurt showed on Harry’s face like a bruise. Louis wanted to snatch back every word. But he kept going. Destroying - it was what he was best at.

„You don’t want to be with someone like me.“

Harry’s voice quivered. „Don’t tell me what I want.“

Louis held his ground, no matter how painful. „Then tell me what you want,“ he breathed. Hoping. Fearing. Losing.

He looked at Harry, defiant, but slightly pleading, too. „Tell me.“ His voice was nearly a whisper now, weighed down by it all.

A single tear rolled down Harry’s face and dripped from his chin. „I hate you,“ he squeezed out between shaking breaths. „I hate you.“

There it was. Those three words.

Louis stopped breathing.

Harry turned around and ran for the door. He opened it, then turned around again for a moment and looked back at Louis, one last shocked look, and Louis saw that his face was wet and pale. And then, only then, when Louis forced himself to make eye contact did he realize just how much he had broken.

Louis thought he could physically feel his heart breaking, hear the sound of it shattering to pieces, sense the tiny fibers jagging at his inner organs, the pieces splattering and spreading across his entire body, leaving a yapping empty space where the organ should be.

Nothing remaining but the broken, dirty shards of his Harry-Styles-loving heart.

He felt melodramatic enough for thoughts like these. Because it was over.

He waited for another few minutes until he went after Harry down the stairs and back to the hedonistic throng tailing through the corridors behind the stage. People quickly realized he was there. He felt their relieved, angry and disappointed eyes on him. Hands directed him to his dressing room.

Hands - his own, maybe - undressed him and put on his Peter costume.

Feet - his own, maybe - carried him to the stage entrance where Niall stood, waiting for him.

The look on his face was one of the worst things Louis had ever seen. „What have you done, Louis?“

„Fixed a mistake,“ a voice - his own, maybe - replied.

„You’ve always had a strange sense of reality.“ His eyes found Louis’ and bound them to his. „But there are people out there right now, and I’m neither going to let you ruin their experience of this play, nor will I let you destroy all these hard-working people’s best night of their lives, alright? So you will go out there right now and pretend nothing has happened. You will leave all this behind you and be fucking Peter Pan right now, or I swear to God I will kick your ass out of our apartment. You owe this to us. The show must go on and all that shit.“

„I promise,“ Louis said.

Niall nodded grimly. „Good.“

His eyes were so fierce that not even the blond wig of flowing locks sitting slightly askew on his head made him seem any less determined.

Louis didn’t know how he did it. He did not know how he made it through the play without crying or fleeing or screaming. He did not know how Harry did, either. But this time, he was not drunk and he did not stumble off the stage, even though the pain in his chest was the same as then. He did not hear the applause at the end, did not feel the warm lights on his skin. And when Peter died, falling from view off the pirate’s ship, he stayed on the ground for a moment longer, looking up at the ceiling, listening to a heartbeat that did not exist any longer.

Full method acting.

_'Does he die?… Peter. Does he die at the end?'_

_'I don’t know… I really have absolutely no idea.'_

_'I like to think he lives.'_

_'Then he does.'_

Louis wanted to claw out of his skin. Peter did not live at the end. He was the boy without a shadow, forever young and then dead. Lost for good.

The show was over. Louis tumbled off stage. He wanted to leave. Needed to. His friends dispersed, happy about the play, sad about it ending. Somewhere behind him, he heard a champagne bottle popping. Cheering. Laughing.

Louis turned around to Niall. „Can we go home?“ He felt like a helpless little child. He probably was acting like one, too.

Liam appeared behind Niall, pointing at something over his shoulder. „Someone’s come to see you, Louis.“ He took a step aside, discreetly vanishing into the champagne drinking little crowd behind them.

Louis froze. The world stopped spinning. Someone had taken the ground from under his feet.

Niall looked over his shoulder to where Louis’ eyes were caught. He glanced back at Louis, so many emotions written across his face it was impossible to entangle them all. „It was Harry’s idea.“ Louis knew Niall was angry with him, but in that moment, Niall ignored all that and only gave Louis an encouraging smile. „It’s all right.“

Dazed, Louis stepped forward.

Stepped toward his family. The family he hadn’t seen in almost three years. The family he’d abandoned out of guilt and shame, certain they didn’t want anything to do with him. Yet here they stood. Waiting. Smiling. Proud…

He took another step and there they were, so much more grown-up than he remembered them. That was what grief did to you, he supposed. Grief and time.

Louis had missed them so much. Every single day, he had regretted what he’d done to them. How he’d left them alone when they had needed him the most. Because he’d been so fucking scared.

Lottie, the oldest, slowly opened her mouth. All their eyes were roving over him as if they couldn’t quite believe this was happening. She grinned, hesitantly, but fully. „You were great. The play was great. It was sad, though.“ She paused, then slowly reached out and took his hand. „Mum was right, Lou. You do belong up there.“

Her hand was warm in his.

The same warmth as when she’d been a baby, reaching out her tiny little fists to her big brother.

The same warmth as when they’d sat outside on Christmas morning, waiting for Santa’s sled and watching the colorful swirls painted on they sky instead.

The same warmth as when she’d slipped her fingers through his beside his mother’s hospital bed.

He’d let go of her hand, then. Let go and left the room.

His voice was raw. Speaking seemed impossible. „Thank you.“

But she was wrong. _I’ve never belonged up there. I’ve always belonged right here, with all of you_.

But standing up there had just been so much easier.

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_

„I’m sorry.“

Phoebe took his other hand. „Don’t be.“

Her twin sister, Daisy, looped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. „We’ve missed you, Louis.“

The last time she’d hugged him, her head had only reached as far as his belly button. Now her soft hair the same color as his grazed his chin. A tear slid from his eyes and onto her head. Could it be this easy? Could anything unmake all his failures from the past? Maybe this could. Maybe it really was this simple.

Something moved inside him. A shift. A change. A mend, maybe.

His eyes slid to the end of the room, watching through a curtain of water as Harry lingered at the door, watching. Louis’ heart cracked anew. He wanted to cry out, wanted to race to Harry and lock him in his arms, wanted to see him with his family, wanted to thank him a thousand times and then a thousand more.

But Harry left and Louis stayed. Held his ground.

Instead, he only tightened his arms around his way-too-tall sisters, trying to catch all the missed moments in this one.

Zayn had once told him that love was simple. Everything in between was complicated. The human heart was indecipherable, but love at its core was the simplest thing in the world. And this was.

Holding his sisters - his family - close; it was easy. Holding Harry close was the easiest thing in the world; letting go the most difficult.

„Promise you’ll visit us, Louis,“ Lottie whispered near his ear. „Promise it.“

Louis closed his eyes. „I promise.“

After that, they didn't speak, didn't have to because there was nothing to be said that all of them did not already know. 

-

The hotel room was empty.

No colorful Hawaiian shirts and silk blouses neatly folded on every surface. No yellowing poetry books, no elegant boots. No Harry.

Louis sank to the floor in a daze, feeling his chest cave in as the reality of just what he had done settled in his bones. Of what Harry had done for him.

He was infinitely tired and worn out. One would think doing the right thing - the heroic thing - would feel better. He hadn’t expected the first time of him doing the good thing to feel this horrible, this barren and hopeless and hateful. Why did anyone do the right thing when it hurt this much? Harry had always done the right thing, and he had always been the one getting hurt for it.

Louis did not feel heroic. He felt everything and nothing at once.

The pain in his chest expanded and he rolled himself to a small ball on the polished wooden floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Who would have thought this was what a hero looked like after his big battle? Like a small, helpless, self-pitying child.

There were no tears left for him to cry. Tears of happiness, tears of helplessness, tears of spite, tears of grief, tears of relief, tears of joy - he had shed them all today.

He was at the end of a rollercoaster, spent and wind-tousled.

The door opened. Niall leaned against the frame, arms crossed. „Where did Lottie and the others go?“

„They had to get back home. School.“

„Will you visit them sometime?“

„I promised.“

„Can I come with you when you do? I missed them too, you know.“

The thought had never occurred to Louis, but it made sense. Niall had loved those girls almost as much as if they were his own siblings. He had been heartbroken about Jo’s passing like they had all been, but somehow Louis had never realized it.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at Niall. „I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.“

Niall shrugged. „You needed me more than I needed you.“

„I’m sorry.“

„It’s all right.“

„I’m sorry.“

„Stop apologizing.“

„I’m sorry.“

„You’re annoying.“

„I’m sorry.“

„Louis-"

"… He’s gone.“

Niall rested the side of his head against the door. „I’m sorry.“

„I want to go home,“ Louis said.

Niall stretched out his hand. „Then let’s go home.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for everything (the late update, the horrible chapter...)
> 
> Still hoped you kind of... enjoyed it, I guess?
> 
> Thank you so much if you're still reading, you're incredible!!! <3


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